


Abattoir: 6 Months

by orphan_account



Series: Abattoir [2]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fox Mulder Angst, Hurt Dana Scully, Hurt Fox Mulder, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Suicidal Thoughts, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 21:37:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21204476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This is a sequel toAbattoir, following M & S for the six months after Mulder & Scully's forced sexual encounter and Mulder's rape. It falls between Abattoir and 1964 1/2 Mustang.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted by Xenith. xenitha@yahoo.com.
> 
> * * *

**Dana Scully's Journal  
February 7**

Mulder came home from the hospital today; against medical advice. Why am I not surprised? He developed an infection stemming from his injuries at the hands of Kurt Willard (may he burn in Hell) and the doctor wanted to keep him until the fever was under control.

Mulder, being the independent (cowardly) SOB he is, waited until I'd gone home for a shower before he signed himself out and took a cab home. The only reason I found out as quickly as I did is that I had made friends with the nurse on duty. Sandy gave me a call right after Mulder left, so I grabbed my car keys and rushed over to Mulder's apartment.

Fortunately for us both, Dr. Barnes had insisted that Mulder take a full supply of his antibiotics and pain pills before he let him leave, AMA release or not. I got to Mulder's apartment to find him collapsed on his couch and clearly unable to go anywhere else.

"Damn it, Mulder! Why do you _do_ stupid things like this?" I fumed as I covered him with a blanket. I fished a thermometer out of his medicine cabinet and popped it into his mouth. Mulder began to mumble around the thermometer until my expression made it clear that my question had been purely rhetorical.

I went on. As long as he couldn't talk back, he was going to get an earful. "Mulder, you had surgery two days ago, you aren't even on solid food yet, and you've developed an infection leaving you with a temperature of..." I read the thermometer. "one hundred one degrees. You need medical attention. I'm calling an ambulance and you're going back to the hospital."

"Scully...please."

I stopped when I heard the quiet pleading in his voice. Mulder the flip, sarcastic funnyman I can deal with. Mulder the vulnerable, stops me dead in my tracks.

"Scully, I don't want to go back. It's too...noisy there. Too many people around, and every time somebody touches me...I.." his voice trailed off to a mumble, but I had a pretty good idea what Mulder was getting at.

This time last week we had both been in the sadistic hands of Kurt Willard and his buddy and ex-cellmate Benny Zabrilski. Willard had offered Mulder the impossible choice of either raping me or watching me be gang-raped. Mulder chose to help me, and made what could have been a terrible physical violation into a gentler, dare I say loving(?) experience. Mulder didn't rape me, he made love to me under the worst of all possible circumstances, with cameras recording the event and the certain knowledge that the tape would land on A.D. Skinner's desk.

I will bless Mulder's sacrifice till the day I die. He didn't have to choose to be a victim, but he did. For me. And after Mulder made my escape possible, he survived the rape intended for me. For me. For me.

Ah, Mulder...whatever will I do with you? And then, the poor loving soul believed in his heart that he was just too damaged to remain my partner. That he couldn't, daren't face me. I think we resolved some of that by discussing our fears in the hospital. But not all, I think. Not yet.

I still feel guilty and ashamed that I took the chance offered and ran for my life. Forget the fact that Mulder intended me to escape, I still left him. He doesn't blame me for it; he intended it by his action. But I have quietly determined to make it up to him in any way I can. _Anything_ this man needs, he will get, if it takes my last breath.

I sat down on the coffee table opposite him. "Is it bad?" I watched his face closely. Mulder can lie well, but not to me. He said nothing for a bit, but I could see his lips tighten and his eyes look away.

"Not so bad," was what he said verbally. But I could see by his expression and body language that he had been desperate to get away to someplace quiet and alone, where he could try to recover himself in privacy.

"Mulder, you still need medical care..." I started but  
Mulder interrupted.

"No, Scully. I'm not going back there, to be stared at and pitied..those orderlies are the worst." Mulder snorted. "They sort of clutch at their genitals whenever they approach me, like what happened to me is catching." Mulder's eyes were deep pools of anguish and embarrassment. He'd be pleading next, and I couldn't take that.

"Mulder, what I was going to say is that you can get that care at my place. With your own, personal doctor." I leaned forward. "I'll go in to the office and check on you at lunch. You should be okay on your own till dinner time. My guest bedroom is open. And I insist."

Mulder looked as if he were about to cry with relief. God, after all that he'd been through, it hadn't occurred to me that a simple hospital stay could so increase his pain.

"If you're sure I wouldn't be imposing?" I shook my head. "Okay." Mulder said simply. He tried to get up from the couch without success, then commented wryly "I think you're going to have to pack my overnight bag for me, though." He shifted position on the couch and winced.

"I think it's time for one of your pain meds. Here, you take this and I'll go pack." I shook a tablet out of the bottle and got him a glass of water. Then I went to pack a bag for him.

It is 11:00 p.m. now. I moved the television set into Mulder's room. When I checked on him twenty minutes ago, he was propped up in bed against some pillows with the channels on the t.v. set scrolling rapidly past. Then I realized that Mulder had dropped off to sleep with his thumb still depressing the key on the remote. It took everything I had not to giggle out loud as I gently retrieved the remote and left the television on some stupid show on the Fox Network.

* * *

**February 8  
3:00 a.m.**

I woke this morning to an agonized scream. I was halfway to Mulder's room, gun in hand before I was fully awake.

I charged into his room, to find him huddled in bed, pleading with Kurt Willard to let him alone.

"Mulder, it's okay, it's me. He's gone. It's okay," I repeated softly as I approached him. His eyes opened and met mine, the tears still running down his face. With all my heart I just wanted to gather him up and protect him, but I knew that he wouldn't let me touch him. Mulder just looked at me, despair in his eyes.

"Scully..." he gulped and wiped his eyes with the bedsheet. I nodded and slowly sat down on the bed, close but not touching him.

"Mulder, are you okay? Do you need medical help?" He closed his eyes and bowed his head, shaking 'no'.

"Scully," he said under his breath. "I was dreaming, and I was there again. And he was there. And I couldn't stop him, couldn't stop it from happening. I'm a goddamned trained _psychologist_ and I couldn't stop it; couldn't prevent him attacking you, couldn't save my_self_. I'm the sorriest excuse for an FBI agent I've ever met with..." His voice died away into silence.

I had no words. Only rage. If Kurt Willard had survived the shootout, I have no doubt that I would have grabbed my gun and he'd be dead now. And I wouldn't shed a tear. What could I say? I couldn't think of anything, nothing I can say will ever undo it.

"Mulder," I whispered. "You changed things, by being there. If not for your protection, I would have been gang-raped. I owe you, big time; don't forget that. You saved me from something terrible. I'd like to hold you. Can I hold you? Please?"

He finally looked up, forcing himself to meet my eyes and nodded. I moved slowly across the bed and gathered him into my arms, pulling his head against my heart. I could feel the sobs he was holding in.

"Let it go. It's okay, just let it out." I whispered, as my voice got shakier and finally broke. In the end I couldn't tell where his tears ended and mine began.

* * *

**Later--**

I had to go into the office for a 9 a.m. meeting with Skinner. I was ready to reschedule, but Mulder talked me out of it. He pointed out (logically) that nightmares and flashbacks are par for the course in his situation. He insisted that he'd be fine and that he'd see me at lunch. Reluctantly, I left him.

As I entered Skinner's office, I know that my eyes were still red and my face puffy. Makeup can only do so much. As soon as I had taken a seat, he fired off a question at me.

"Agent Scully, why the _Hell_ aren't you on medical leave? Mulder wasn't the only one sexually assaulted on the Willard case." He glared at me as only A.D. Skinner can glare.

But I can out-stubborn him any day of the week. "Sir, I am seeing my therapist regularly and feel that I am coping well with the...trauma. I feel better when I keep busy. I don't want to sit at home and mull over what happened."

Skinner just looked at me. Being held at gunpoint, in fear for my life (and afraid for Mulder as well) wasn't a picnic. I need to work, put some distance from it.

"All right, Agent Scully, I'll allow you back to work if your therapist will release you as fit for duty....Oh," he said to the sheet of paper I placed on his desk. He reviewed it, attached it to another sheet of paper and filed it. Then he turned back to me and sighed.

"And how is Mulder doing?" he asked searchingly. "Will he be out of the hospital soon?"

I looked down, couldn't let him see the worry in my face. "He's already out. He's staying with me until he feels better; he still needs some help before he can care for himself again." I smiled at Skinner projecting my best confident aura. He didn't buy it.

"Agent Scully, there's no question in my mind that Agent Mulder's psychological condition is worse than his physical. I talked to Sandy; she says that Mulder left against doctor's orders. Tell me the real story."

I mentally cursed efficient nurses and told him, all of it.

Skinner sat quietly when I had finished. Then he took a deep breath. "Agent Scully, are you sure that you are in any condition to take this on right now? No.." he raised a hand at my protest. "I'm not saying that you should abandon Mulder. Just don't forget that you are a victim of those sadistic bastards as much as he is, and you need healing time too." Sometimes Skinner is just too damned perceptive, but I couldn't let this one go. I can't; I owe Mulder. Big time.

"Sir, I appreciate your concern, but I am fine. Mulder is the one who needs our support the most. Please, I owe him so much. I have to do this." I was as close to pleading as I've ever been with him. I guess that helped.

"Agent Scully, your personal life is your own business. Since your therapist has declared you able to work, I will expect you to return to your regular schedule, effective immediately." He smiled. "However, things have been relatively quiet of late, so I don't anticipate any cases taking you out of town in the immediate future. But if you feel that you need to take some personal time, for _any_ reason, please feel free to do so."

I smiled back. "Thank you sir." I got up to leave.

"Oh, and Agent..." I turned. "Take good care of him," Skinner said.

I just nodded.

I went home for lunch today and to check on Mulder.

I walked into the living room to see Mulder hunched over my computer, a credit card on the desk next to him. The screen faded out as I approached (Mulder is fast, I'll give him that), and he was stuffing the credit card into his jeans pocket. I felt a flush of hope at that. If he's feeling well enough to surf the porn sites, maybe he's beginning to feel better.

He looked up at me, flushed with embarrassment. "Uh, hi Scully," he mumbled.

"Hi, Mulder," I ignored the computer and put my hand on his forehead, then got the thermometer. Mulder remained silent while we waited for it to read. Temperature was 99 degrees. Good.

Then my nose woke up. "What is it that smells so good?" I wandered into the kitchen and found a pot of chicken soup simmering on the stove. "This looks wonderful. Which deli delivered it?" I grabbed a spoon from the drawer, hygiene be damned, and took a taste. Divine.

"It's not from a deli." Mulder gave me an abashed grin. "I made it. It didn't seem right, my sitting around all day and not contributing something."

I grabbed a bowl and scooped up a large helping. "Believe me, this is a contribution," I said, helping myself to a big helping. "But Mulder, you still can't eat solid food."

Mulder got a bowl. "I thought of that. I've got broth for me, and this tastes better than Ensure anyway." He dished himself a serving from a smaller pot at the back of the stove and carefully seated himself opposite me. We ate lunch in a companionable silence.

As I dug the last drops from my bowl, and seriously considered picking it up and slurping the last bit, I commented to Mulder, "You never said that you could cook."

"You never asked," Mulder refilled my bowl and put it in front of me. "So, how was work today, dear?" Mulder asked, only half jokingly.

Oh I know how much he wants to be back in the office, but he just isn't strong enough yet, and he knows it.

"Boring. Skinner has me doing background checks and paperwork. I think he's trying to give me what he'd term 'light' work. You aren't missing anything." I glanced up and Mulder looked a little less unhappy.

"What are your plans for today?" I asked.

"Oh, I have an appointment with William Draeger at the Rape Crisis Center." Mulder looked steadily down into his empty bowl.

"I'm glad you found somebody to talk to about this. I'm seeing my therapist too, you know. And Mulder, if you ever need to talk, I'm here."

Mulder looked up at me, finally meeting my eyes. "I know that, Scully. And if you need a shoulder to cry on, mine's always available." He gave me a rueful smile. "We sure are a sorry pair, aren't we?"

"Oh, Mulder..." I just wanted to hug him, he looked so defeated somehow. I leaned forward and was about to embrace him when he pulled back so sharply that his chair fell out from under him. He landed in a crouch that kept me at arms length. My hurt must have shown on my face, because he got up apologizing.

"Scully, I'm so sorry...I just can't. You..startled me." He held his empty arms outstretched, then dropped them at his sides. He looked close to tears, and I probably looked the same.

"It's okay, Mulder," I said, rather unsteadily. "We'll go slow; we have time."

Mulder just nodded and walked with a bowed head into his room. I cleaned up the kitchen area. When I left for work, I tapped on his door but got no answer.

I got home from work before Mulder returned from the therapist. I cleaned the apartment, tidying away the inevitable result of Mulder in residence. And worried about him, about us.

I sat on my couch and thought about the dreams I've been having. Since Mulder was rescued and has seemed to be recovering, I've had the same dream every night, borne, I am sure of my fantasies and hopes. And every time I think about the dream, I find myself becoming aroused again.

It starts the same way. We are in the warehouse, naked bodies pressed together. But this time there are no cameras, no rapists watching us. We are alone. And this time, Mulder doesn't have to be coaxed into arousal.

I feel his gentle lips trailing kisses down my breasts, his mouth suckling first my right nipple, then my left. His hands slowly move down the sides of my abdomen, fondling and exploring my skin. Then he parts my legs. One hand reaches in to roll my clitoris between long fingers, while the other gently strokes my entrance with two more fingers. I feel him dipping into me, then rubbing my liquid onto my clitoris, swirling his fingers around my center.

Just as it becomes unbearable, and I am gasping his name he stops and meets my eyes, smiling at me, then moves down to caress my clitoris with his mouth. His tongue is moist and hot. With his teeth and tongue he increases the sensations until I can barely breathe.

By this time I am pleading for it, whimpering to him to fuck me, please, please Mulder, please fuck me....I feel him enter me slowly. He is inside me, stretching me. It hurts so good. Mulder always did demand 101% from me. I spread my legs farther apart, then wrap them around his waist and I mindlessly beg him please, harder, harder, faster, more...He moves powerfully, faster and with more force, taking me to himself and I surrender to him. I don't submit; he'd never want that, but I freely give all that I have and am. And I take all that he is, gladly.

I wake up in the night, sweating and naked, alone in my bed, feeling the emptiness of the space around me. And I hunger for him.

I feel embarrassed at what I have just written. If Mulder ever saw it, I would be mortified; but I have no one to tell these thoughts to and I must get them out, somehow.

Since Mulder has come to stay, I am afraid that I might awaken calling his name. I don't know what he would do if he knew about this dream, and I would never want to pressure him. But still, I look forward to the night, and the dream.

When I heard the key rattle in the door I quickly dropped the pillow I'd been holding between my legs, and hoped I didn't look flushed. Mulder looked worn as he walked into the apartment and dropped his coat over the chair.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" I asked, but didn't move to grab the thermometer. He looked like he needed space.

Mulder smiled a little. "Hey yourself. I'm okay, just a little tired. I think I'll lay down for a while."

I got up, suddenly worried. "Do you want your pain pills?" I trailed him to the door of his room and reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. I could see him consciously controlling his flinch and pulled my hand back.

"No," he shook his head. "I just need a nap."

I eyed him closely "I'll reheat some of that broth for dinner. Let me know when you're hungry." He gave a little nod and went into his room, then shut the door behind him. I sat on the couch, listening for any sounds from the room. While I absently leafed through a magazine, I thought I heard quiet sobbing through the door and momentarily considered checking on him. Then I realized that privacy was the best thing I could give him.

After an hour or so, Mulder came out, looking even more worn than he had before he went in. He ate dinner without a word, then spent the evening flipping channels in front of the television set. Physically he was better, his temperature was 98.6 all evening. Finally, after scrolling through all the cable channels twice, Mulder took a deep breath and addressed me.

"This won't work, Scully." He sat, his arms folded over his chest, seemingly shrunken into himself.

"What won't work?" I asked cautiously, although I had a good idea what he was getting at.

"I can't stand being so close to you, but I can't be with you; not really." The look he gave me tore at my soul. "Scully, today when you tried to hug me my body just took over. I couldn't get away fast enough. I wanted...want to hug you back. But I can't, right now, not spontaneously. And every time I rebuff you, I'll cause you pain. Being here with you in the same apartment is tearing me apart. I want you...so much, and I'd die before I'd hurt you.."

His voice trailed off, then he began again. "Scully, I need some space, to myself. I've been thinking about going to the Vineyard, stay with my mom for a while. Draeger has referred me to a therapist there."

I was quiet for a minute. Since Kurt Willard I have felt as though something inside has awakened; I feel an incredible hunger that I was unaware of before. No, not unaware, but I suppressed it so thoroughly I could safely ignore it. Since that terrible day that Fox Mulder made love to me, I have craved his touch, longed for his presence. And yes, being near Mulder but not being able to touch him, to make love to him, has been difficult. But I could never force him to stay close to me just to feed my own hunger.

"How long will you be gone?" I was surprised at the longing in my voice, but haven't the ability to hide it any more.

Mulder smiled. "Not long. I'll be picking you up at 8:00 sharp on Saturday night."

I was puzzled. "What for?"

"Our first date. We did agree that we were going to start dating, didn't we?" Mulder suddenly looked worried.

I hid a smile; so he wasn't that averse to physical closeness after all. Maybe there was hope. "Of course. And the attire? Is this dinner and a movie or something fancier?"

"Oh, definitely something fancier. I want to impress this gorgeous little redhead I met at work." Mulder paused, "If you're willing."

"Oh yes," I breathed. Maybe there was hope, indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**February 9**

Mulder has gone. When I woke this morning, he had packed and left, with a note on the table.

"See you Saturday. M.", was all it said.

Why do I feel so bereft? We haven't been sleeping together, he only stays with me when he's sick. He's taken vacations before and I never felt like the most vital half of my soul had just walked out.

* * *

**Later**

I spent the morning working on more paperwork in our tiny basement office, when I had to run upstairs to get some documents from Kim. She's been depressed since the Willard case. I know that she feels guilty at being Kurt Willard's unsuspecting dupe, and providing him will all the data he needed to kidnap and kill five agents, and almost Mulder and me.

"Hi Kim," I greeted her, admiring the mammoth display of red and white roses adorning the corner of her desk. There must have been 24 roses in the vase. "Wow. Where did those come from?"

Kim grinned. "That's what I want to know. I was about to call you. Here's the card, Agent Scully. They were left at the front desk for you and security brought them up here." She handed me a small card and waited while I slit the envelope. I could hear the door to Skinner's office open and knew that he was just as curious as she was.

The card simply said:

_"Beautiful flowers for the fairest rose of all. M."_

I know that I was blushing wildly as I closed the card. I leaned forward to sniff one of the roses, when I saw a thin gold chain draped over a stem. Gingerly I pulled it out and found a small bracelet, just the size for a petite wrist like mine, with a tiny charm on it. A gold cross.

"Oh...that's beautiful," Kim sighed. "Who's it from?"

I blushed even more. There's no rule that says agents can't date, but I still wanted to hug the secret to myself. I looked up and Skinner's grin told me all I needed to know.

"Oh, I imagine it's some secret admirer, finally making himself known." Skinner said cheerfully and I swear he winked at me.

When I left Skinner's office, I felt not unlike a parade: Mrs. Spooky on her way to the basement, hauling a truly whopping bouquet of roses (in a vase that I could swear is crystal). Heads poked out of cubicles throughout the bullpen, and I could hear the speculation buzzing through the halls.

Before long, I was being visited by a variety of  
secretaries, admin. assistants and agents who had never bothered to find their way to the basement before. It was embarrassing. It was exciting. Okay, it made them jealous, and it was fun to rub their noses in it for once. Dana Scully had an admirer and she wouldn't say who. I wore the bracelet for the rest of the day, touching it occasionally to be sure it was safe.

* * *

E-MAIL MESSAGE  
From: DScully@fbi.gov  
To: FWMulder@fbi.gov  
Date: February 9, 1999  
Re: Roses

Mulder,

I got the flowers, they are beautiful. Security took them to Skinner's office, where they promptly gave the entire bullpen a charge. You evil man, you knew that would happen.

And thank you for the bracelet. I'm wearing it now.

Mulder, sometimes I can say things in writing that I am unable to articulate in person. I want you to know that I've missed you. Coming home to a Mulderless house is a lonely experience. I've enjoyed having you here; I always enjoy your company.

As I said in the hospital, I chose you a long time ago and my feelings for you have only deepened. If you ever feel that you don't have the same feelings for me, please don't be afraid to say so. We have always spoken the truth to each other, and I will never lie to you. And my truth is, that there is an enormous hole in my life when you aren't there.

I hope that you find Martha's Vineyard a good, restful place to be. If you ever need me, for anything, please, please call me. I'll be there.

* * *

EMAIL MESSAGE  
From: FWMulder@fbi.gov  
To: DScully@fbi.gov  
Date: February 10, 1999  
Re: Roses

I'm glad you liked the roses. When I saw them, I couldn't decide whether to send white or red, so I sent both. White for the purity of your outlook and red for your passionate soul. I'm glad I chose right.

You're right, it is easier to say the things I think by  
e-mail. Somehow when we're together, I find myself making jokes, not telling you what I really want to say. My feelings haven't changed since I told you I loved you in Bermuda (and I'm not on any drugs now!) I'm glad you believe me now; I guess this means that I _don't_ have to rent the billboard after all.

Does this qualify as a love letter? Should we be using Uncle Sam's e-mails for such obviously non-governmental business?

* * *

EMAIL MESSAGE

To: FWMulder@fbi.gov  
From: DScully@fbi.gov  
Date: February 10, 1999  
Re: Love Letters

I'd say that the last e-mail pretty much qualifies as a love letter. You can get mushier if you want. I understand that you Oxford grads can get pretty poetic.

Me, I'm just a scientist. I can't write love letters  
without using clinical terms like "cardiac" as in "If I  
don't see you soon, I will experience cardiac arrest."

* * *

EMAIL MESSAGE  
To: FWMulder@fbi.gov  
From: DScully@fbi.gov  
Date: February 11, 1999  
Re: Mushy love letters

You want mushy? How about this:

You are my better half and I don't feel complete when I'm without you. That time when you were gone, when they had you, I knew that my life was meaningless unless you were there to share it. When you wanted to leave, before Antarctica, I was desperate because I knew that my life was over, my quest was worthless unless you shared it.

And in that warehouse, when I believed that you and I could never share a partnership again because of what I perceived that I had done to you, I didn't want to live.

Please don't ever listen to me when I tell you to get away from me. I'm separated from you now, physically, only because I have to be. But my heart will always be where you are, no matter what.

* * *

EMAIL MESSAGE  
From: DScully@fbi.gov  
To: FWMulder@fbi.gov  
Date: February 11, 1999  
Re: I love you too

Mulder,

I don't know what to say, so I'll just say it. I love you. When you're cut, I bleed. I've been praying for you every night. I know, you aren't religious. Put up with it.

I can't wait until Saturday. It's our first date, isn't it? Do you kiss girls on the first date?

* * *

EMAIL MESSAGE  
From: FWMulder@fbi.gov  
To: DScully@fbi.gov  
Date: February 12, 1999  
Re: First date

I thought you Catholic girls NEVER kiss on the first date. But if your mother doesn't come out of the door waving a shotgun at me, I think I could manage a passable goodnight kiss. Tongue?

* * *

EMAIL MESSAGE  
From: DScully@fbi.gov  
To: FWMulder@fbi.gov  
Date: February 12, 1999  
Re: First Date

Only if dinner ISN'T the super-garlic special at Tony's Pizza Place. I've had to share stake-outs with you after you've eaten lunch there.

* * *

**Dana Scully's Journal  
February 13, 1999**

I'm waiting for Mulder to come pick me up. I hate first dates. The first question, what on earth do I wear? I have a closet filled with black pantsuits, black and navy business suits and other outfits eminently suited for chasing down felons and mutants. Nothing for a first date with a gorgeous man.

I did the only sensible thing. I got my credit card and went shopping; Mom came along. She figured out fast why I was so flustered and why nothing, but nothing looked right.

"So, when is Fox going to pick you up?" she asked, oh so calmly.

"Eight," I gave up any attempt at secrecy and told her the whole thing. Mom's eyes gleamed. I hate that. She immediately began trailing me past the lingerie shops, then began pulling some skin-tight spandex outfits off the rack for me to try on.

"Mom, I can't wear this!" I gasped and held up a black spandex knit skirt. It could double as a belt, it's that short. Mom just smiled and shooed me into the changing room.

Okay, the clingy fabric really does something for my curves, as did the sparkly (and equally slinky) top. Mom bought me earrings (for luck, she said). We did stop for shoes, and I got a pair that will never darken the door of the Hoover Building--very very high heels. No way could I chase aliens in these. But oh, how they look! That and Mulder's bracelet (and my cross) complete the outfit.

Now I sit here on the couch and worry. What if he doesn't like the way I look? What if he only likes Dr. Scully, FBI agent and not Dana, the woman? What if he thinks this outfit is too, well, tarty? I don't normally dress this sexily...God, I hate first dates. I've only known the man 6 years, and I still hate first dates. Doorbell, he's here!

* * *

**Later**

Finally have time to write a bit. And I need to. Mulder was as good as his word. He arrived at 8:00 sharp, holding a corsage in a box. It was a wreath of baby red and white roses to wear on my wrist.

I think I must have shocked him, because when he saw me he reeled back and it took a moment for him to catch his breath. In a good way.

"My...goodness Scully. You clean up good." He stammered. I interpret this to mean that he was generally pleased with my appearance.

Of course, he was wearing my favorite black Armani suit with a conservative tie (my Christmas gift to him) and a matching red rosebud for a boutonniere. Yum.

"You aren't so bad yourself." I picked up my bag and waited while Mulder closed and locked the door behind me. Then he escorted me downstairs, his hand at the small of my back.

We went to a very small, very chic French restaurant. It was then that I remembered, Mulder was on liquid diet the last time I saw him. What on earth was he going to eat.

"Mulder, I know you've been drinking Ensure...will this menu be okay?" I whispered from behind the menu.

"It's all right. My doctor put me on solid food two days ago, I'm just avoiding things like chili peppers and Frohike's cooking for the time being." Mulder put the menu down and ordered wine.

The evening was romantic and perfect. Mulder found a club that plays Big Band music and took me dancing. I couldn't tell whether dancing cheek to cheek bothered him, but the first time I tripped (damned shoes), he just held me tighter and propped me up (blessed shoes).

At midnight or so, we decided to call it a night. I stood in the doorway, waiting for Mulder to get the car, when I felt a shove from behind that pushed me to the sidewalk, onto my hands and knees. I yelled and looked up to see a man with my purse in hand, pounding down the sidewalk. I got up and began to pursue, when Mulder passed me, running swiftly. As I caught up to Mulder, he was just grabbing the thief. I tried to help but Mulder shoved me away.

"Damn it, Scully, let me do this! He might be armed!"

He had him that poor thief on the ground before the guy knew what hit him. I held in my rage until after the police had arrived to take the purse snatcher off our hands and had returned my purse to me.

Our drive back to my apartment was silent, until I could hold it in no more. "Damn it, Mulder! I'm just as competent an FBI agent as you are! I am perfectly capable of subduing a suspect! Or helping you subdue him!"

Mulder gave me a long look and was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Scully, you're right. I'm sorry I yelled at you, but he knocked you down. When I saw you on the pavement...I just saw red. I couldn't let him hurt you and get away with it. Somebody assaulted you, in my presence, and I couldn't prevent it. But I sure as hell could catch him and lock him up! And...I guess I wanted to be the one to..to protect you."

"Oh," I said quietly. We arrived at my apartment, and Mulder escorted me upstairs. He waited while I unlocked the door, then drew his gun and searched the place. I was left standing in the doorway.

"Wouldn't you like to come in, Mulder?" I asked the empty space where Mulder had been. Mulder returned quickly, holstering his gun.

"All clear?" I asked matter of factly.

Mulder had the grace to look embarrassed. "Yeah. Sorry, I'm a little paranoid."

"Well, let's go in and have coffee." I led him into the living room and got him settled on the couch with coffee and some fudge brownies I'd had the foresight to bake this morning. The way to a man's heart...

We sat there quietly munching brownies, Mulder saying nothing. I straightened the brownie plate, then straightened it again. "So, Mulder..." I began uncomfortably. "When you said, uh, mess around..just what did you mean by that?"

Mulder looked a little taken aback, then grinned. "Why Scully, I do believe you are blushing." He lightly lifted a strand of hair from my face and tucked it behind my ear. "I think I'd define 'messing around' as something like this..."

He leaned forward and very deliberately and thoroughly kissed me. On the lips. Tongue. Oh my. He tasted of chocolate and espresso. I restrained myself from grabbing both his ears and throwing him backward on the couch. Barely.

The kiss was long and sweet and led to more kissing, and soon I was the one backward on the couch, blessing Mom for talking me into that Victoria's Secret underwear.

Alas, we didn't get that far. Mulder pulled back somewhere around my cleavage and sat up. He cupped my face in his hands and gave me a regretful look.

"Too far?" I asked him, putting my right hand atop his. "We'll only do what you're comfortable with."

"Scully.." Mulder began, then looked away. I put my left hand on his cheek and turned him to face me.

"Mulder, the truth is okay. It can't hurt either of us," I said gently.

"Okay...I don't want to go too far, Scully. The..the way I feel now is trouble enough. But I..I can't lose control of things, can't make love to you all the way...the AIDS tests aren't final yet. And I don't want to go so far that we both forget ourselves." Mulder looked abashed.

"Mulder..." I paused, to make sure that I was clear in my own mind what I was offering. Yup, the risk was worth it. Oh yeah, six years is a _long_ time.

"But you probably don't have the disease. And I know the risks. Every day I autopsy a body, I'm protected from AIDS and God knows what else, only by a thin layer of latex. It's a risk I take because it's my job." I looked deep into his melting hazel eyes. "Mulder, I've waited six years for this, and I want you. I don't want to stop here, we deserve more. I..want more. We can use condoms."

Mulder gave me a look compounded of equal parts lust and regret. "No, Scully, no condoms. No exchange of bodily fluids until I test out clean."

"But why?" My frustration was showing. "Latex is..."

"Safer sex, Scully, not guaranteed. And if I gave you a deadly disease I couldn't live with myself. No, we'll just have to wait." He laughed a little. "But I'm glad you're as hot for me as I am for you."

I flushed, but had to admit that he was right. We said good night shortly thereafter, and the kiss we exchanged was about an 11 on a 1 to 10 passion scale. You make do with what you have.

I've taken a hot bath, although a cold shower is probably more appropriate. I'm looking forward to the dream again tonight.

* * *

**February 14, 1999**

This morning I was reading the Sunday paper, when I heard a knock at the door. When I checked through the peephole, there was a delivery man, dwarfed by the floral arrangement he was vainly trying to hold.

I took it off his hands and closed the door behind me, then found the card buried somewhere between the hothouse roses (pink) and the baby's breath. The card read "Next Saturday night? 8 p.m.---wear knee pads."

Knee pads?

* * *

EMAIL MESSAGE

From: DScully@fbi.gov  
To: FWMulder@fbi.gov  
Date: February 14, 1999  
Re: Happy Valentine's Day

I got the flowers, and they are lovely, but honestly Mulder your credit cards must be maxed out by now. And I think I'm getting hay fever. Still, they look beautiful on my table--I'm admiring them now. And one other question...Knee pads?

* * *

EMAIL MESSAGE  
From: FWMulder@fbi.gov  
To: DScully@fbi.gov  
Date: February 14, 1999  
Re: Happy Valentine's Day

I'm not telling. But wear jeans with your knee pads.

And Scully: XOXOXO (That's virtual hugs and kisses)


	3. Chapter 3

**Fox Mulder's Journal  
February 14, 1999**

Last night was wonderful and frightening. I don't think Scully saw how scared I was. She looked so confident, so glowing with life, energy. I just wanted to stay close to her fire and get warm. And I am so cold, still so cold.

Part of me is still in that damned, fucking warehouse; never left. While I was staying with her, I surfed Amazon.com and ordered some books, but didn't want Scully to see me reading them. About male rape, what it is, how to recover. The books have arrived and they have only one answer...it's very very difficult and painful.

Staying with her was excruciating. She loves me and worries about me. And I know that she wants me sexually. As I want her. But I can't have her. Not yet. Not now. In six months? Maybe. Maybe never.

I didn't tell her about my call to the Rape Crisis Center. After she left for work, it all just built up inside, tearing, howling pain. I knew the next step was to eat my gun. So I took the card and dialed the number, got a female volunteer. Draeger wasn't there and I needed to talk, just talk to somebody who didn't know me. Somebody who wasn't talking to Spooky Mulder, ace FBI agent. Somebody, who'd just talk to me.

I told the woman about the attack and how I felt, and it was hard to get the words out. It's even harder to write about this here, but I have to. She didn't believe me. She said that men don't get raped; they're strong and they can defend themselves. Then she accused me of being some kind of pervert who was calling the hotline just to harass the volunteers with smutty talk and GET OFF ON IT!!! She actually accused me of masturbating during the phone call. Oh God, I'd have been laughing if I wasn't so devastated.

I just sat and held the phone. Couldn't hang it up. Couldn't move. Thought maybe she was right, I could have prevented this. I have self defense training, I'm not afraid of a fight. Damn it, I've been an FBI agent for 10 years! I should have been able to defend myself. Did I subconsciously want this to happen? Is that what this is really about? Was Kurt Willard right? Did he see something in me that I didn't? Was I really asking for this? Oh God, I couldn't take this...

Before I hung up the phone, Bill Draeger got on the line. He overheard the last part of the conversation and took over. And he remembered leaving the card. At first I didn't want to go there, see anybody from that organization, but he talked me into it. We talked for about an hour, and afterward I felt less like killing myself. I can't say that the thought has ever really left me; not since I woke up in Scully's arms, and saw the crowd of FBI agents and cops staring at me. Knowing what had happened to me.

Hiding all this from Scully is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I couldn't protect her from the rape, hers or mine. But I can protect her from my crises, from being forced to watch me disintegrate. Dating is manageable, the structure gives you space. But I can't be around her every minute of every day. She's too perceptive for that. And she can't do anything for me, but worry. I won't cause her any more pain.

When I got to the center, I sat in the car a good 20 minutes, trying to muster up the courage to walk inside. I still don't know how I did it. I felt like I had a sign plastered to my forehead "Rape Victim", and everybody could see it. I was the guy who got it in the ass, the one who was so weak he couldn't defend himself.

The receptionist was very polite. I didn't meet the volunteer who originally took my call. The waiting room had all women in it, no men. I tried to look like I was there to sell office supplies. No way did I belong in a rape center, nope, not me.

Draeger came out and shook hands with me. He's tall, about my height, and built like a linebacker, tattoos up both arms. I could feel myself getting nervous around him, his build is a lot like Kurt Willard's, and his complexion.

Draeger led me to his office, but left the door open when he saw how uncomfortable I was. Then he told me about himself. He's been through it too. He was a trucker about five years ago and stopped for the night at a remote spot. Two guys tried to rob him but were upset when he didn't have much money, so they both raped him. The local hospital didn't know what to do with him. The cops figured he must have asked for it, because everybody knows that men don't get raped. And a guy this big should be able to defend himself, right? Forget the fact that the guys had guns. His wife left him, couldn't live with it. He lost his job because he got AIDS. He's stable on AZT right now, and living a day at a time. But what he went through made him want to help other men in the same boat.

The local nurses and doctors have his card on file, for cases like mine.

Talking to him gave me a lot to think about. And I realized how much I needed to get away. I told Bill about Scully, and another project I've been wanting to work on. He said that some space might be a good idea and gave me a referral to a counselor on Martha's Vineyard. But we both agreed that I can call him any time, day or night. And I have, usually after midnight when I've woken up screaming with a nightmare.

Mom hasn't said anything about those. Come to think of it, she got used to that when I was 12. She knew then that she couldn't do anything to prevent them, so she gave me my privacy.

I've been sending Scully salacious e-mails. I've always wanted to do that, now I have a good excuse. And her e-mails to me cheer me up no end. She reminds me that there is still light in the world.

I sent her flowers today, Valentine's day. I wish I could make love to her, all day, slowly. Unpeel some of that black lace underwear I know she wears. At night, before sleeping, I imagine making love to her, real love, not just teenaged groping. I think about going down on her, listening to her moan my name. Then I imagine (remember, this is fantasy, I don't know if she'd do it), I imagine her taking me into her mouth and doing to me what she was doing to that Tofutti Dreamsicle that one day at the office. I've always thought she had a fiendish look in her eye as she ate that thing. And then, entering her, feeling her tight and hot and wet around me, finally...at last...

Touching her last night felt so good, and so dangerous. I feel like I have no skin; all the safety is gone, all the walls are down. I want to touch her, but it feels dishonest, too. I am ashamed to feel this, but in addition to pure desire (and oh, how I desire her), I also feel a need to prove to myself that I can love a woman again. I guess I'm scared that maybe I'm really gay, and that's why Willard raped me. I can't do that to Scully. I can't use her like that. And she wants me; I can see it in her eyes, feel it in her touch. I want her too, I think it's honest desire. No, it _is_ honest desire. But I can't, not yet.

I don't know if I can. Thinking about sex, any sex starts out good, then segues into the memories. First of Scully and me, doing it on that concrete floor, under the cameras and lights. Then after. And I remember it all, goddamned photographic memory. Sounds, smells, pain..everything.

Bill says to keep things simple right now. My life is bound to get disorganized. Simple. Me? Huh!

* * *

**February 20, 1999**

I haven't had this much fun in a long time. Probably since batting practice with Scully. I picked her up at 8:00 p.m. sharp, per the plan. She just stood in the doorway, wearing tight jeans and a suspicious expression. No knee pads, but she was dying to know what I had in mind.

I didn't tell her right away.

We stopped for dinner at Denny's and had burgers. I could see the wheels turning in Scully's mind as she tried to figure out my plan for the evening. We talked about work. Skinner still has her doing shit jobs, "light work" I think she calls it. I guess I shouldn't be scornful of it. He's keeping her safely in the Hoover building, not out running down mutants or something. I don't want her on the streets without me to protect her.

In any case, we finished dinner then went to Rosie's Roller Palace, best known for the disco-skate nights (of which tonight was one). Scully was so busy laughing at the knee pads I insisted she rent, we both forgot an important detail. I never learned how to skate.

I mean, Sam knew how, but I never learned. That's a girl thing when you're a kid. Scully, now, she knows how to skate. Really well, in fact. I guess I kind of assumed that I'd pick it up naturally. I mean, I'm athletic, right?

I was the one who needed knee pads, shoulder pads, helmet, oh and coordination. We started out from the edge of the rink, me clinging to Scully as she propelled us forward. Before long, I lost my balance and pulled us both over. Nobody hit us before Scully had hauled us both back to our feet. We set out bravely across the rink again and managed to stay upright. For a while, at least.

I only fell three more times before Scully called it a night. She said that she had no plans to sit with me during another trip to the emergency room, and wasn't it time I bought her that chocolate sundae I'd promised.

Well, who am I to renege on a promise? We went back to Denny's and Scully put away a whole sundae plus half of my chocolate shake. If this keeps up I'm going to have to start taking her to salad bar places, just so she doesn't outweigh me in six months. Ouch...better erase that. I'm dead if she ever sees this.

Scully gave me an ultimatum. Next week's date is on her. Dinner at her place, 8 sharp. Yeah, I think I can handle it.

We went back to her apartment and I went in for coffee and Kahlua. No brownies, this time. Just a really really mellow Scully.

We just kissed. Okay, we did more than just kiss. With Scully's help, I got to admire her Victoria's Secret black lace panties and matching bra. Very tasteful. And so was her skin. Tasteful, I mean. Her lips, her earlobes, her neck. While I was sucking her nipples, she was making those shuddering movements that I once mistakenly confused with discomfort. But this time she was moaning and holding my head down, so I think I was doing all right. Had to stop there or I'd have been sharing some body fluids unintentionally. This is going to be a very long six months. No flashbacks during the evening with Scully. A personal best.

* * *

**February 25, 1999**

I think I'm ready to move back to D.C. I haven't said much about Mom, or how she's reacting to this. The reason is, she doesn't know. I just told her I got beat up pretty bad and needed some time off. She's always respected my privacy and frankly, doesn't want to know the gory details of my life. She had enough of that with Dad; now she prefers to remain ignorant.

The local therapist is good, but I'd rather talk to Bill Draeger. He's invited me (no, too weak a term-he told me) that I'm joining a survivors' group he runs. He's in D.C., so I guess I'm going home. Besides, I'll be closer to Scully there.

Through the guys, I'm renting a garage in a quiet neighborhood. I won't tell Scully about it or what I plan to use it for, I don't want anybody to know about it. I hate this life, the way I am now. I'm nervous wherever I go. I'm always looking around for suspicious people, heck I'm looking for Kurt Willard. Crowds are hard, but groups of men freeze me. Bill says that's normal, and no doubt it is. But it'll be hard when I go back to being an FBI agent. If I ever do.

* * *

**February 27, 1999**

I met Scully at her place, 8:00 sharp, as ordered. Since I'm the guest, I brought a bottle of wine (pre-approved by Scully of course) and a bouquet of flowers. She's starting to accuse me of trying to hay-fever her to death. But I see how her eyes glow when she picks up the bouquet of red and white roses I hand her. This woman has never been given enough flowers in her life. I intend to change that.

She led me into the living room and sat me down, handing me the television remote without being asked. Oooh Scully, you know what I like!

Scully brought dinner into the living room on two t.v. trays and spooned out generous servings of macaroni and cheese along with homemade meatloaf. I must admit I was expecting stroganoff or something. But then she gave me a silly grin and pulled three videos from the television cabinet.

"Mulder, I tried to think of the perfect evening for you. Not what I'd choose for a date, but the way you'd enjoy an evening the most. Since I don't feel like breaking into the Pentagon tonight, I took second best. So here is your macaroni and cheese with meatloaf. The apple cobbler is waiting for dessert. And for entertainment," She picked up the first video and read the title: 'Planet of the Apes', followed by 'Escape from the Planet of the Apes', ending with 'Beneath the Planet of the Apes'.

I was floored. "Scully...why, that's the most romantic thing anybody has ever done for me." She just grinned and popped the first tape into the VCR. We ate dinner, then at my invitation I soon found an armful of Dana Scully snuggled against me as we watched the movies.

I must have dozed off. I woke up at about 4 a.m. with the show on the VCR and Scully lying next to me on the couch, her arms wrapped around me and her head on my chest, fast asleep. I felt safe for the first time in weeks. I wish I could bottle her, I'd make a fortune.

She snores. Never heard that in the car, but she makes a funny little whistling snort. I could listen to her for hours. Actually, I did.

The next morning when she woke up, I could tell her memory of last night was fuzzy. Oh yes, don't get Scully too tanked up on white wine. So I just smiled down at her.

"So, Scully, was it good for you?" At her look of panicky disorientation, I took pity on her and added "The movies, I mean. We both fell asleep. So, now I can safely say that I've slept with Dana Scully, can't I?"

Scully climbed on top of my chest and gave me a good morning kiss that left me in no doubt about how well she slept.

While I was still getting my breath back, she sat back a bit and commented mischievously, "So, Mulder, did you like the kiss? Or are you carrying your weapon in a different place?"

I quickly lifted her off me and set her gently on the floor, then got up myself and headed for the bathroom to reduce the "weapon" to manageable proportions. I never saw this side of her (not much, anyway) before we were dating. Has she been storing all this up just for me?

* * *

**February 28**

I've been thinking about the evenings with Scully. How wonderful they've been, and how normal. But things really aren't normal, are they? Bill Draeger broke the news to me today. The AZT isn't helping any more, and he's developed some secondary infections, among them Karposi's Sarcoma. His doctors are concerned. One terrible act by some anonymous evil man, and Bill's life is being brought to a slow and painful end.

Am I romancing Scully, just so that she can be the widow at my funeral? Do I have the right to put her through this if my turn comes? And even if I don't get AIDS and die, what then? I'm half a man; all talk and no action. If I faced her naked, I'm not sure what would happen. I'm scared. God, I'm scared.

* * *

**Fox Mulder's Journal  
March 1, 1999**

Went to the doctor today for a follow up. My doctor was out sick, so I saw somebody else. Somebody I don't know. He was uncomfortable with me and I could see that he hadn't really read my file, just the nature of my injuries. The exam was embarrassing and it hurt like hell. Physically I'm healing well. But then he started to ask me about my "sexual practices" and hinted that I should choose my partners better. Yeah, why don't I just pick up a gay pride t-shirt while I'm at it?

When I left the hospital, Dr. Barnes said I might need anti-depressants, and if I felt the need I should contact him. I feel the need, but I couldn't talk to that insensitive prick they had filling in today. I just want the pain to stop. I don't want to drink it away, booze is just too tempting. Starting to think about taking up smoking again. Cigarettes always calmed me, but I remember what it was like trying to quit. Got to be something I can do, somehow. I don't know how long I can go on like this.

* * *

**March 2, 1999**

My life just keeps getting better and better. I had an auto accident on the way to the grocery store, of all places. I guess I was preoccupied, or something. I saw the light in the distance, but I ran it anyway. I don't know why.

The next thing I knew, this huge truck was barrelling down on me at 45 miles per hour. He swerved and clipped the the drivers' side rear corner of my car, spinning me 180 degrees. I came to rest on the curb, next to the fire hydrant. I wasn't hurt, neither was the trucker. My car has a good dent in it, but driveable.

Boy was he mad; he spent five minutes telling me just what kind of an idiot I am. Can't argue with that. I just stood there in a daze, trying to figure out why I did it, running that light. I mean, I knew it was there. Was I trying to kill myself? Maybe something in me really just wants this pain to stop. No, all of me really just wants this pain to stop. Would it really matter if I had died?

I had nightmares last night. I relived the rape, over and over, and I couldn't stop it and I couldn't wake up. The pain I feel is indescribable. I think my subconscious was trying to tell me something on the way to the store this morning. I thought about calling Scully, but decided not to. It's unfair to burden her with this.

I think I know what to do about this. I rented that place, just for this eventuality and I might as well get my money's worth now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Dana Scully's Journal  
March 4, 1999**

Skinner has asked me to find Mulder. He's been trying to contact him for the past two days, but Mulder isn't answering his home phone or his cell phone.

I tried both numbers. I got his answering machine at his apartment, and nothing on his cell phone. But Mulder's been known to ignore his machine, so I got my key and went over there. It was clear that the apartment had been occupied for the past several days: his answering machine messages were two days old, there were food-encrusted dirty dishes in the sink and two day's worth of newspapers on the doorstep.

I called Martha's Vineyard, hoping that he had gone to stay with Mrs. Mulder. No such luck. She last saw him on Saturday. I didn't tell her why I was looking for Mulder, and she didn't ask.

I decided to check his desk, to see if he left a note for me. Sometimes he does that when he ditches me. There was nothing in the drawers, but on the computer I found his journal. I've known for a long time that he keeps one, as I do myself. I'd never read it without being asked, but this situation was different. I was getting a chilling feeling that something wasn't right.

I opened it up and began to read, beginning with his release from the hospital. I could feel myself getting colder and colder with each sentence. He's been in so much pain and all I could focus on was romance. I should have known that Mulder would hide his feelings away. I sat limply down in his desk chair and kept reading.

That terrible phone call; why didn't he tell me? I'd have scratched that bitch's eyes out. Why wouldn't he let me help him? And that doctor--damn it! There is no excuse for that kind of behavior. And how it must have made Mulder feel.

Then the journal turned from pain to something more serious. Oh my god, I thought, where is his gun? I ransacked the apartment, but the gun was gone as well as his spare clip. And I have no clue where he's gone.

I'm worried. My next stop is to check with the Lone Gunmen. Maybe they know where he's gone. Holy Mother Mary let nothing have happened to him. I don't think I could stand it.

* * *

**Later--**

I went out to the Lone Gunmen's place. They were there, as usual, making brunch for themselves. I turned down a serving of juevos rancheros with double salsa and got to the point.

"Have you seen Mulder?" I tried to keep the worry out of my face.

"Why? Is he into something?" Frohike asked casually. "Anything we can help with?"

"No, not that I know of. He...um..hasn't been himself lately," I finished lamely. I didn't know how much they knew about the recent past, and I didn't want to break Mulder's privacy.

Byers and Frohike exchanged looks, then both sat down in the chairs opposite me, Langley behind them. This looked ominous.

"When's the last time you saw him?" I asked anxiously.

"He stopped by on Tuesday." Frohike looked concerned. "He, uh, he didn't look right. We asked him what was wrong but he wouldn't say. He just said he had to be by himself for a while." Frohike leaned forward. "I've seen him depressed, I've seen him drunk and I've seen him half-dead, but he's never looked like that. Just what is it that's going on?"

I looked dumbly at the three of them, then realized that they had to know or they couldn't help.

Keeping the account as clinical as I could, I explained the situation.

All three were shocked, Langley looked like he wanted to throw up. Byers gulped and adjusted his tie. Frohike just looked sad.

"We don't know where he's gone. There is one place you might look, though. We helped him rent a storage space, a garage in town. He just paid the deposit on it a week ago. I think we still have the address somewhere..." Frohike fumbled among the cluttered paper on his desk and scribbled something on a post-it note.

He handed it to me and I found myself clutching it between cold fingers. I think that the expression on my face frightened him. "You don't think he's ditched you, do you?" Frohike stated.

I shook my head. No, not ditching me in the classic sense. I know what he's been going through, whether he'd admit it or not. Secretly renting a place, an isolated place with concrete floors and cement walls, and keeping it quiet did not bode well. "He hasn't been home or answered his phone in two days. And he still has his gun," I said quietly. I turned to go, moving slowly, afraid of what I'd find in that garage.

"Scully," Byers called. "Do you want us to go with you?"

I gave him a sad smile. This I would have to do alone. "No. I'll call you if I need you."

I drove painfully over to the address on the paper. If Mulder had committed suicide, he'd probably done it yesterday or the day before. There was no rush, really, to find his body. I parked out front of a nondescript building in an industrial neighborhood. No blood, no signs of disturbance.

I pulled my gun and walked to the side door and quietly rattled the doorknob. The light was on inside, though. Okay, here goes nothing.

"Mulder! Mulder are you in there?" I called, trying to keep the frenzy from my voice. There was no response, so I fished into my pocket for the lockpick kit Mulder had gotten me for Christmas. Good thing he'd also included lessons with it. I got the door unlocked and swung it open.

Once inside I saw an old car up on jacks, then I heard the sound of an Elvis ballad (Blue Suede Shoes?) and a clanging noise. Then I heard a muffled "oh shit!"

A jeans and t-shirt clad form rolled quickly out from under the car, gun drawn, and I beheld Mulder, covered in grease and shaking. He saw me and got up, grinning with relief, then holstered the gun.

"Scully, how did you...mrmph..." I stopped him from making any more silly comments by rushing into his arms and giving him the kiss of a lifetime. And incidentally, getting my new suit all over grease.

I broke away and demanded breathlessly "Mulder, why didn't you tell me you were out here?" He gathered breath to answer, but had the sense to let me finish. "Do you know what I _thought_ you were doing out here? Alone, with your gun? Do you? I drove out here fully expecting to find your lifeless body! You _idiot_! _Don't_ do that to me ever again!" I kissed him again, harder. I felt his strong arms wrap themselves around me as his warm, live lips pressed against mine.

When we came up for air, he leaned his forehead against mine. "I'm sorry Scully, I didn't consider how all this might affect you. I guess I haven't been thinking at all."

"Why haven't you answered your phone?" I demanded.

"My phone? But it's right here, hasn't rung in..." Mulder picked it up and examined it, then smiled ruefully. "Battery's dead. Oops. I've spent the last two nights here, and forgot about it."

I stopped and took a close look at him. He hadn't shaved in days, and was covered with ingrained grease. Regardless of his reassurances, he still didn't look right.

"Mulder, I have to apologize for something," I said slowly. "When I was at your apartment, looking for clues to where you might be, I, uh, read your journal."

He stilled and his eyes took on a look of betrayal and hurt. "Scully, that's private," he whispered.

"I know. I'm truly sorry, but I was so afraid for you. Especially after I had read it. Oh, Mulder, why didn't you tell me what you were going through? Why did you come out here?"

Mulder grew solemn. "I suppose I owe you the truth. You know most of it, anyway. When I came out here, yeah, I took my gun. And it wasn't for self-protection.

He looked at the car thoughtfully, pain shadowing his face. "I felt like dying when I got here. I rented this place with two things in mind, a place to restore my car...and somewhere private that I could end my misery if I had to. I couldn't stand the thought of you finding me, if I took that way out. And I've been covered with grease and stubble for two days, haven't I? What's the point? A little more dirt, added to all the filth I feel inside."

He gave a barking laugh, then saw my face. "But when I got here, I remembered the true reason I rented the place."

He gestured toward the white car. "I got that car when I was 17. This is my first love/first car, my 1964 1/2 Mustang. I worked an entire summer to make the money to buy her, shelving books at the library." He ran a loving hand over the car's white-painted hood. "Sure, the guys laughed at me, but the pay was better than they made flipping burgers. And they never complained when we all piled in and went cruising for girls."

He turned to me and put his hands on my shoulders, making me face him. "Scully, I got here and I couldn't do it. If I died here, I knew she'd never be rebuilt if I weren't here to it. And if she wasn't rebuilt, then we couldn't have that kiss in the back seat. And I really want that kiss in the back seat. And more."

He gave me a smoldering look and leaned in toward my lips. Wow, that must be some car. That kiss led to others and I was wishing pretty profoundly for a back seat when Mulder pulled away, his face abstracted.

"Mulder? What's wrong?" He looked a little pale, and I had a pretty good idea where his mind was trapped. "Hey, Mulder." I pulled his face toward mine. "We're here, in the garage. It's okay." He inhaled deeply and tried to smile, then nodded.

"I'm sorry, Scully. It just hits me like that. In clinical psycho-babble, they're 'intrusive thoughts'. I call them a damned nuisance." He rubbed his eyes, trying to dispel the memory.

"Mulder. I want you to promise me something," I was suddenly deadly serious and planted myself directly in front of him to make sure he understood. "Mulder, if you _ever_ feel that bad again, I want you to call me. No matter what time, or where you are, or where I am. Please call me. I don't ever want to make another drive like today's. And Mulder, please, I don't want to have to figure out how to live without you. If you are in pain, let me share it with you."

I could feel myself tearing up. Damn it, I could feel them creeping down my cheeks as I finished. "And M..mulder, I don't want to be the one who has to identify your body after you've committed suicide. Please, don't ever make me."

Mulder stopped and wiped one tear with his greasy finger. I rubbed at the streak he left behind.

"Scully, I don't know what the future holds or how bad this might get. If I get AIDS..." He stopped, communing with a private agony, then continued. "I don't know what I might be capable of. I can only promise you this, that I will call you and try to share with you what I'm thinking and feeling."

It wasn't enough, but it was the best I was going to get. I just held him for a while, afraid to let him go. I think he realized that.

"Hey Scully, I didn't do it, you know. I'm still here. Let me show you my therapist!"

Mulder 'toured' me around the car, pointing out her obvious beauties. The 'stang is white with a white leather interior, leather seats, chrome everywhere.

He looked at her fondly, and I can't say I've ever been jealous of a car, but I was getting close. "She's been up on blocks in my Mom's garage since Oxford, but I check on her regularly. I've been planning to replace the transmission and rebuild the engine for a while, just never had the opportunity. As it stands now, Skinner is firm that I can't come back to work until mid-March at the earliest. He says I need the time to 'work this out'." Mulder began wiping the grease from his hands thoughtfully, then gave me a long look.

"I need to build something, create something. So much has been destroyed, this is the only little bit of my life really under my control. I've already ordered parts and have started on the engine rebuild. Then I'll replace the transmission, work on the brakes, rebuild the carburetor give her a tune up and she's done."

"Oh...that's all?" I was seeing an entirely different side of Mulder. Oxford educated grease-monkey? I think I like it.

I fished into my purse for more kleenex and began trying to remove some of the grease from my cheeks. Mulder laughed and grabbed the tissues, then dampened them with spit and began to clean my face. I just stood there grinning, while he meticulously removed all the smudges.

"There, all clean. Man, I'm putrid! I'm sorry I wrecked your suit. If you'll excuse me.." Mulder went to a sink in the corner and carelessly stripped of his t-shirt to scrub his arms and face.

Oh my. Mulder without a shirt takes the breath away. I startled when I saw the fading bruises on his back. Damn. Every time life starts to get a little normal, Kurt Willard comes back to haunt us.

"Mulder, Skinner sent me to find you. He says he needs to see you right away." I began to ponder the implications of that, now that I was no longer afraid of finding Mulder dead.

Mulder looked interested and energized. He pulled a clean t-shirt from his gym bag and put it on. "Does he have a case for us? It must be pretty important; he told me before that he didn't want to see me in the office, under any circumstances, until my medical leave was over."

I pulled out my phone. "I'll call him and let him know that I found you."

* * *

**Fox Mulder's Journal  
March 4, 1999**

....So she picked up the phone and dialed Skinner's office. I wandered back to the sink and tried to scrub two days' stink off me. It wasn't just grease (that much was clean dirt), but the terror, the pain, the fear.

I wasn't lying to her. When I got there I had every intention of shooting myself. Ironically, I changed my mind and decided to die more quietly (and less messily) of carbon monoxide poisoning, so I shut the garage doors and windows, stopped up the cracks and started up the car. I sat myself in the drivers' seat and prepared to end it all.

It takes a while to die from carbon monoxide poisoning--did you know that? As I sat there, calmly waiting for oblivion, I heard that funny little hitch in the engine. She was running uneven...spark plugs? She was leaking oil, I'd seen it on the floor. Need to fix that, new gaskets...nope, wouldn't be doing that. I'd be dead soon.

But what about that magic date planned for Scully? That kiss in the back seat, and oh the other things I had planned for her. She'd be begging for mercy by the evening's end. Or I would. That wouldn't happen either if I killed myself.

Scully. What would she think? How would she feel about this? She loves me; I know that. Leaving her like this would be the ultimate act of selfishness. She'd wonder if there was something she could have done to prevent it, and she'd feel guilty. Okay, she'd get over it. Wouldn't she? And it hurts so much. I didn't want to die, I still don't. I just want this pain to go away.

And I considered. If I died in this car, who would ever rebuild her? Who would want her? A suicide car. A death car. She deserves better; a happy future with happy people.

Scully deserves better. She should get her date in the back seat of a 1964 1/2 Mustang. And I guess I deserve better. I deserve Scully. I've waited almost 7 years for her. And I want the years ahead, shared with her, as many as we get.

Scully finished her call with Skinner. I'm to meet with him this afternoon at 4:00. She drove me home to take a shower. She took one look at my car and called a tow truck for it, even though I insisted it was just a little dent.

Once at my apartment, she fed me and watched every bite I put into my mouth. I half expected her to pick up the fork and make little airplane noises. Then she forcibly bedded me down on the couch (alone--damn!) for a nap. She's left now; she's going to stop by at 3:30 to pick me up.

I wonder what it is that's so important that Skinner has to see me right away?

_Letter, to the Director of the Federal Bureau of  
Investigation_

_Sir,_

_Please consider this my formal letter of protest over the decision to assign Special Agent Fox Mulder to the Scott case._

_As you are aware, a serial murderer-rapist has been operating in the general Alexandria area for the past three years. Although seven bodies have been found, law enforcement has been unable to develop a viable suspect for this crime. Violent Crimes has had the case for a year, and is currently actively at work on several leads._

_However, the recent abduction of Erica Scott, the daughter of Senator Gareth Scott, has undoubtedly propelled this case into the limelight. The method of Ms. Scott's abduction falls into the 'signature' that has been developed for UNSUB._

_I understand that the Senator, familiar with Agent Mulder's past work as a profiler, personally requested that Agent Mulder be assigned to this task force and be given a lead role in it._

_As we discussed earlier, I cannot express my concern at your decision to assign Agent Mulder to this case strongly enough._

_ As I stated to you previously, Agent Mulder is currently on an extended medical leave for injuries (both physical and psychological) stemming from his abduction and rape while performing his duties as a Federal agent._

_In my opinion as his supervisor, he is in no condition to undertake any duties of this kind. I cannot in good conscience allow him to take this assignment._

_You are aware of Agent Mulder's earlier history of stress-related problems during his time with the ISU; his physical and emotional breakdown as a result of the effects of his work. He has operated as a profiler only one time since then, with questionable effects on his health, although the case was successfully closed._

_Given Agent Mulder's recent experiences with his own sexual assault, it is unconscionably cruel to ask him to profile a sexual predator at this time, and I must vehemently insist that this assignment be withdrawn._

_Put bluntly, if he works on this case you will< certainly damage him psychologically and will possibly kill him. He is too good an agent to waste in this way._

_ Yours Very Truly,_

_ Walter S. Skinner  
Assistant Director_

* * *

**Mulder's Journal  
March 4, 1999**

Well, I guess I'm profiling the case that might finally destroy me. I say that facetiously, but I have profound concerns that it might also be true.

I met with Skinner today and he looked grim. As I sat down, he asked me if I wanted coffee (a first), then called Kim to bring some in.

"So, does this mean you're firing me or promoting me?" I asked as I sipped my Starbuck's. Man, it must be serious if he brought out the good stuff.

"Agent Mulder, I am very sorry to have to bring you back from leave. How are you doing?" He looked nervous. It isn't like Skinner to dodge around the main point.

"I'm doing okay, I guess. Physically I'm recovering well, my doctor tells me. I might even play the violin again..." I could see that the joke wasn't registering with him, so I quit while I was ahead. "What's the matter, sir? Why did you send Scully after me?"

Skinner wouldn't meet my eyes. He pulled a file folder off the top of his stack and handed it to me. "Erica Scott, the only child of Senator Gareth Scott was abducted on Saturday. The evidence points to a serial rapist-murderer known to be active in the vicinity. The Senator knows about your work and has personally requested you for this case. The killer's pattern is to hold a victim for about two weeks before murdering her and dumping the body. He hopes that with you on the team, it might be possible to find and rescue her before that happens."

I felt a shock go through me at the word "rapist". No. No, surely they couldn't expect this of me. Not after what happened. I met Skinner's eyes and saw shame and profound sadness there.

"You should know, Agent Mulder, that I filed a formal letter of protest with the Director over this assignment. I don't want you on this case; it's too close to home for you. But it's been taken out of my hands." Skinner looked more upset than I've seen him in a long time. This was really bothering him. Somehow, I find that comforting.

Curious, I opened the file and began to read it. Erica Scott, age 32, worked as an attorney at a local patent firm. She was kidnapped from her home some time after work by an unknown intruder. No evidence of forced entry. Either he had a key or she invited him in. Normal enough case. Then I turned the page and saw the photograph. An elfin face with bright blue eyes looked up at me, surrounded by long brilliant red hair. Height was listed as 5 foot even, weight 100 pounds.

"She looks like Scully!" I looked up in shock. Skinner nodded.

"The killer's victim of choice is female, age 30 to 40, petite with blue eyes and fair or red hair, and so far only professional women have been victimized. We believe that he selects the victim in advance, stalks her, then takes her when he judges it safe to do so. So far, each victim was taken from her home and there is no evidence of forced entry in any instance.

I just kept looking at the picture. She wasn't dead yet, maybe she could be saved. Maybe I could save her, return her to her family. She's probably already been abused, but we don't know yet. I couldn't save Scully, couldn't save myself. But this young woman....maybe I could do something. I might well be her only chance.

Skinner tried to talk me out of it for twenty minutes, but I insisted that I was going to take the case.

I took the file with me and decided to take the stairs to the basement. I needed time to think about this before facing Scully. Actually, I sat on the stairs, the file on the step next to me, finally realizing all the implications.

When I profile, in a sense I become the perpetrator. I try to think his thoughts, understand his motives, and most important, anticipate his actions. I've walked through the minds of rapists before, but never as a victim myself. The thought of revisiting my rape through the mind of a rapist, sickens me, the more so because of the type of victim he chooses. Am I crazy because I accepted this case? Skinner sure thinks so. Maybe he's right.

I don't know what this will do to me. I've never thought of myself as emotionally fragile before; never thought that I could break. In recent days, I have discovered that I can break, and shatter and live through pain whose intensity I could never imagine. Why am I doing this?

I see Erica's face in my mind. And I see Scully, cowering on that warehouse floor. And I feel my own helplessness and rage in the face of Scully's abuse. And my own.

Or is this just a socially acceptable way to commit suicide?


	5. Chapter 5

**Scully's Journal  
March 4, 1999**

When Mulder came back from his meeting with Skinner, he looked so pale and shaky I was tempted to check him for bullet wounds. As it was, I shoved him into a chair and got him a glass of water.

"Mulder, what is it? What did he say to you?" I pulled my chair up next to his and watched over him carefully as he quietly sipped. His eyes, his eyes looked haunted.

"I have a new case," he pointed to a file folder he'd just dropped on the desk top. "Skinner asked me to come back from leave early. My services as a profiler were urgently requested."

"Damn! How can he? Skinner knows what you've been through!" I said indignantly. Mulder smiled at me sadly through his water.

"Oh, Skinner tried to talk me out of it. He suggested I see a lawyer, or tender my resignation. He said it was unfair of the Bureau to use me like this." He sipped his water again. "I'm taking the case. I told him I'd do it."

"But why, Mulder? My God, two days ago you were ready to commit suicide! And why is this so vital, that you have to come back before you're ready?" Mulder looked pale to my eyes, and his hands had a fine tremor as he picked up the folder, opening it onto the desk.

"Erica Scott, age 32, the only child of Senator Gareth Scott was abducted on Saturday, we suspect by a serial rapist. He's known for keeping his victims up to 2 weeks before murdering them and dumping the body. The Senator asked for me, hoping that it might be possible for Erica to be recovered alive."

I was shocked. A rapist. They want Mulder to profile a rapist. Now, after all he's been through, he has to try to capture the thoughts and motives of a rapist. Oh my God, I thought, no--this can't be happening.

"Mulder, you can't do this. You can't work on this case. After everything that happened to you; you were suicidal just days ago! Let somebody else profile this guy and find her. This time, let somebody else do it." Mulder just sat, staring at the folder.

I reached out and put my hand on top of his, stroking the back of it with my thumb. "Why do you have to be the one to do this?"

Mulder looked up at me and grabbed my hand, then turned the pages of the folder with the other. A color photograph of a young woman looked up at me.

"My God, she looks like me." I studied the photo closely

"The killer's profile so far indicates that he favors young professional women who are petite. He likes blondes and red-heads. When I saw this photograph, all I could think about was you, Scully. I couldn't save you, not really. You were sexually assaulted too, whether you want to talk about it or not. And I couldn't stop it. This, maybe I can stop. At least she'll get out alive."

He looked back up at me, his eyes full of emotion. "I have to do this, Scully. I have to make it right somehow."

I stood up. "No, Mulder. You aren't going to use me as an excuse to work yourself to death. I won't watch you do this to yourself; you've been through Hell enough already and I won't participate in this." I stomped out of the office and slammed the door behind me.

I stopped at the restroom to vent some of my tears of rage. It wouldn't do to look anything less than calm as I walked across the bullpen to Skinner's office.

Skinner was waiting for me when I got there. He let me pace, stamp, storm and otherwise tell him what a totally idiotic thing he had incited Mulder to do. When I finally ran out of energy, he pointed to a chair.

"Agent Scully, why don't you have a seat? You're making me tired."

I sat. He pulled his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. "I see that Mulder told you about the case. And I agree with you, assigning him to it is not a good thing. But this was taken out of my hands, over my strenuous protests. Mulder was given the option to turn the assignment down, and I urged him to do so--strongly. He took one look at the latest victim and there was no changing his mind."

I stared at Skinner, knowing that he was right. He'd never had any ability to keep Mulder off that case, only Mulder could do that--damn him.

"He's doing this because of me. Because of what happened in the warehouse," I said softly. "He blames himself, first he couldn't get to me because he was locked up, then, well, you know what happened. He still thinks he should have protected me. He wants to save her." I picked lint from the hem of my skirt. "He wants to save me, and himself, but it's too late. It's already happened."

Skinner looked at me with a sympathy I'd rarely seen in him before. "I know. I expected this when I saw the file and the picture. That's why I fought hard to keep him off this. Scully, I need you to trust me on this one. How is he really? I need to know."

I was silent, still feeling that it would be a betrayal to tell Skinner just what kind of shape Mulder was really in. Skinner sensed that and started talking again.

"Dana, I know he's not well right now. God knows, he's lost weight and looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. But I have to know how close to the edge he is, so that we...you and I...can take steps to protect him. That's the only way he's going to make it through this."

Betrayal, that's how it felt. Another betrayal of this man that I love, to admit this to Skinner. "He's close, sir. Very, very close. He...has been struggling with the rape and its aftermath. It hasn't been easy for him. I think I should be on this case with him. I can at least watch his back." My skirt was lint-free, but I still kept plucking at it, then smoothed the edge. "The circumstances of Mulder's condition--do others know about the rape?"

"I wouldn't try to keep you off it, Scully. And as far as I am aware, Mulder's rape is not generally known. Of course, the fact of your own assault has been public for some time, although only the original task force has actually seen the tape. Or ever will."

I nodded. People had been amazingly supportive. "Who's leading the team?" I asked.

"Agent Fred Davis. You met him on the Willard case. At least you'll have a sympathetic SAC."

"We'll need all the help we can get."

When I got back to the office Mulder was waiting. I brushed past him and got my coat and car keys. "Let's go, Mulder. I think it's time to call it a day."

I saw him pick up the file and tuck it under his arm. We walked silently out to the parking garage and it wasn't until I put the car in 'drive' that he said anything.

"Scully, are you mad at me for taking this case?"

"No. No, I'm not. I'm just very very tired and worried." I glanced over at Mulder, but he was already starting to look remote. He was processing.

"Mulder, are you okay with this? Analyzing the thoughts of a rapist?"

"I'll manage." Mulder closed the file in his lap and stared out the window. "And I'll keep my promise. If it gets bad, I'll call you."

I'm home now and, having taken a long hot soak, I'll say my prayers and go to bed. And I'll add an extra prayer or two for a woman my age in the hands of a rapist.

* * *

**March 5  
2:47 a.m.**

I'm up. What a nightmare, God what a nightmare. Erica Scott's face kept haunting me, then she faded away and I was in the warehouse again. I was there and I was naked and they were all over me.

Mulder hasn't seen the video, thank God. He's never wanted to hear about it, and I won't bring it up.

I haven't written about it; I don't want to. I don't want to think about it. I want to just ignore it and go ON with my life. There's been too much trauma already, not another violation, not another one...When will this ever be over?

Mulder says I won't talk about it. He's right. I won't. I haven't been to my therapist; I lied to Mulder and I lied to Skinner. I want all this to just go away. Mulder is the one we need to focus on, not me. My issues just aren't significant. They didn't rape me after all, Mulder just...

They did rape me after all. They just used Mulder as an unwilling tool. Mulder was the one who refused to be used for violence and did his best to transform it into something not so evil.

And before they let Mulder out of the room, they... they took my clothes and they put their hands on my...oh I can't write this. I can't think this. I can't...

I need to. I have to get this OUT. Oh God, I was yelling and fighting, when one of them hit me on the face and stunned me. When I woke up I was naked and my legs had been untied and the younger one, Benny, was pulling my panties off.

Kurt just stood to one side and unzipped his pants, then masturbated himself. He moved in my line of sight so that I would see. I remember that I started crying, sobbing, and was angry with myself for being so weak.

While Benny knelt between my knees and began fondling my pubic area (okay Dana, the clinical vocabulary helps), Kurt started to talk to me. He told me that they had decided to share me, that Benny would use me first, and then when he was done it would be Kurt's turn. And then...and then they'd both..at the same time...oh I can't write this. I was shaking and begging them to please, not do this. They didn't have to do this.

I've autopsied so many bodies, so many victims of violent death and of rape. I know the wounds, know the last hours of so many women. Looking up at Kurt, I knew exactly what was my future held, blow for blow. And what to expect. Knew what my body would look like when they put it on the dissecting table.

Kurt pushed Benny aside and began squeezing my breasts, hard, leaving bruises and marks, laying on top of me. He whispered in my ear, telling me just what he loved to do to bitches like me who thought I was better than him. Thought I was so fine, an FBI agent, with all that college, when I was just...just another filthy cunt...a piece of raw meat. And when he was done with me, there'd be nothing left.

I could hear Mulder yelling and pounding on the door, trying to get out. Oh Mulder, please get out, please, I remember wishing and praying. Benny stood to one side, letting Karl run his hands all over me, then down between my legs, his fingers gouging into my center. I could feel his penis against my belly. I remember praying, please God, please get me out of this, somehow.

Just then, Mulder hit the door especially hard and Kurt stopped, his eyes narrowing. I could smell his foul breath in my face.

"I heard that you two were close. I guess that's true. I wonder if he'd like to join the party?"

I just stared into his eyes and was silent. I heard Benny say "Yeah. Why not get him out here and let him watch the fun!"

Kurt gave his fingers a twist inside, then pulled them out of me. He sat back and pulled his pants back up, zipping them.

"Okay, let's do it."

Benny held the gun on me while Kurt went to get Mulder. For Mulder to see me like this...I remember that this was all I could think. I believe I was in shock. I huddled on the floor, grateful that Kurt was gone, for however short a time.

I heard Mulder crying and pleading. I think, I know he was trying to get to me, to help me. But when a figure came close to me, I winced away, afraid it was Kurt. It was Mulder.

And he held me, as though he could keep the rest of the world away. When he held me, I felt almost safe. I wasn't alone here, Mulder was here and I wasn't alone. I told him what had happened and he could see my terror.

Then Kurt saw how comforted I was and tried to destroy Mulder and me. He made Mulder choose to watch my rape or participate himself.

Mulder knew what I wanted him to choose, and he helped me. And he asked me to forgive him.

When I felt his body on top of mine, it was strange. It felt like he was gently sponging off their touch and replacing it with his own presence. He's so much bigger than I am, I felt hidden under his body, away from their prying, evil stares.

He almost couldn't do it, and I could see Kurt and Benny getting impatient. Impatient meant dead in our situation, so I kept Mulder focused on me, on my eyes. And I looked into his and saw such love there that I felt humbled by it. This man chose to join me in Hell, because he loves me.

As I relaxed, my body had its own responses, and this was Mulder after all. My body knew who he was, even though my mind was still screaming. I feel guilty, ashamed, at my responses to this, to him.

Mulder...they raped him, horribly, terribly. Instead of me. Because Mulder got me out of there. Me, I was safe in a farmer's pickup on the way to the hospital while they were doing that to him. I was warm, wrapped in blankets, talking to sympathetic people while he was alone on that cement floor.

I have no right to feel pain, or complain of my situation. I have no right.

And since then, the abuse has continued. Oh, nobody is attacking him now. But the callousness he's had to endure makes me weep. And he never said anything. He went to that garage to die, I know that. He was going to do it quietly and as cleanly as circumstances would allow. He probably was planning on leaving a note instructing them to call A.D. Skinner at the FBI to identify the body.

And he would leave me, bereft. Not even a good bye. I am angry that he would leave me like that, but I can't stay mad. He's in pain and he can't see his way out. I know how that feels, the cancer made me feel like that.

And now...how do I feel? I don't know. I don't want to know. I can't afford to fall apart. Mulder needs me, more than he ever has. He needs me strong and capable and THERE for him. If I die for it, I will be there for him.

* * *

**March 6, 1999**

Davis showed us around the "War Room" where files and evidence had been gathered. Tacked up on the walls were 7 photographs: the victims. I started when I saw those faces. It was like looking in a mirror. They all looked like me.

I could see Mulder wince as he studied each face carefully, gently touching the edges of each photograph as though introducing himself to each woman. I could see him getting sadder and sadder as he looked at them all.

I was, I don't know...startled. Each woman had a pale complexion, light hair, blue eyes and small features. The stats for each was the same, height under 5' 2", the heaviest weighed 106. There were three redheads in the group. All lived alone. All had been taken from their homes in the Alexandria area, raped multiple times then stabbed to death.

I found myself walking with my arms folded protectively over my chest by the time I, too, saw the last face. Mulder waited for me at the last picture posted, Erica.

"Are you sure you want to be involved in this case, Scully?" he asked quietly. "I know this is hard for you, and..these faces. You fit the victim profile pretty closely."

"I'll have the same problems you will handling this case, and I'm up for it. As to the victim profile, where am I safer than in a group of FBI agents, with guns?"

He still looked worried, and something else seemed to be bothering him. "Mulder, let's take a walk outside."

I led him outside the Hoover building and we began a leisurely walk toward the Mall. "What's really bothering you?" I asked.

Mulder was silent, trying to find the words, then said "Scully, you know how I profile. In a very real sense, I become the perpetrator, think his thoughts, feel his feelings. And you know, that's why I never do it willingly any more. Normally, I'm in control of my actions because I have a strong sense of who I am. But..." He stared into space a bit, his hands in his pockets.

"But?" I prompted.

"Scully, you fit the victim profile so closely; any of those women on that wall could be you. I'm.....uncomfortable...about what might happen when I really start to channel this guy, and clue in on his motives and emotions. Since the..warehouse..I've been trying to rebuild myself, re-define who I am. I'm not so centered any more."

Mulder looked more than _uncomfortable_, he looked terrified.

"Mulder, are you afraid for my safety? Afraid that you might hurt me?" I studied his face closely, trying to get inside his head. Mulder is one of the sanest men I know, granted his definitions of reality are a bit unconventional. He's the only one I know of who can stare a mutant in the face without running away in screaming terror.

"I'm afraid of losing myself, losing control. And lately I've discovered that there are a lot of things about my life that are out of my control. I don't want you endangered."

We had arrived at the Washington Monument. Mulder looked up at the spire and was quiet. I shivered in the wind.

"I don't want to leave you alone. I'm afraid for you. I don't believe that you would ever hurt me, no matter what monster you're profiling at the time. Mulder, look at me."

He turned away from the monument. I pulled his face down with both my hands and kissed him. "You are a good man, and I know that you would never willingly cause harm to anyone, much less me. I don't believe that you would ever hurt me, even if you were profiling Charles Manson. Please, let me stay with you. I need to be there to remind you who you are. I left you at the warehouse and now....I just can't leave you all alone in the dark."

Mulder just looked at me with an unreadable expression, then folded his arms around me and held me close. "Scully, I don't want you to go. I want you there, always. But if you ever sense that I'm a danger to you , run. Shoot me if you have to, because if I ever did hurt you I'd kill myself anyway."

I smiled shakily. "Hey, I've done that before. I can do it again."

* * *

**Fox Mulder's Journal  
March 5, 1999**

Scully came into the office today paler than I've seen her since the cancer.

"Scully? What's wrong? You look upset." I handed her a cup of cappuccino (nonfat milk, no sugar) I'd picked up on the way in.

She took it and tried to smile, without success. "I didn't sleep well, that's all," she mumbled and made a bee-line to her desk. She promptly opened a file at random (I know it was at random because it was the expense report paperwork) and began to study it intensely.

She obviously didn't want to talk. Three guesses what was upsetting her, and the first two don't count. I'm not the only one with nightmares.

I'm glad I chose to go into therapy for this. Bill is a great guy, and he's easy to talk to; all the more because he's been there. It hurts to discuss it with him, but I feel the pressure eased, somehow, afterward. I wonder if Scully really is seeing her therapist. She seems so bottled up, well, more bottled up than usual. And that's saying something.

I got up to put a file into the cabinet, and she jerked suddenly, startled at my movement. I caught a look of terror on her face, too familiar, too DAMNED familiar.

Can't say anything to her. She'll just say that she's "fine" and refuse to talk. We've been that road before.

Thank God Davis is out of town and we don't have to face the task force. A quiet day in the office can be a good thing, sometimes.

So, here I am, sitting quietly at the computer composing a journal entry that I will e-mail to myself. I can't hold this in until I get home from work.

I'm worried about her. She seemed to take all this in stride at first, but I should have known she was repressing it all with all her force of will. She has a lot of will. Now it's getting away from her.

And which of us is in worse shape? The one who knows and acknowledges that he's a cripple, or the one who's denying it?

My next task is to open the files, all seven of them: one for each woman--I won't call them victims. They were people, with lives, who were taken from the ones who loved them.

Who is this man? This monster? And how do I prevent his evil from infecting me?

* * *

**\--Later---**

I'm so pissed off I'm shaking. As I was walking back from dropping off some reports at Skinner's office, I heard some guys in the bullpen talking about Scully and me.

"Yeah, " said the first one. "I hear she's really hot on the video; she and Mulder are fucking like bunnies. By all accounts, the ice queen was really getting off on it! No way could you call that a sexual assault. Man--that's my kind of rape!"

The second one laughed. "Well, at least we finally know what turns her on! Kinky sex and she likes it rough. How about him, though? He looks pretty sick these days."

"I dunno. I heard he got shot or something. Either that, or they're still doing it and she's some kind of black widow, sucking the life out of him."

It was all I could do to keep from drawing my gun and dropping both of them where they stood. So, what Scully told me was right. Skinner had been successful in hiding what was done to me, but he wasn't so effective for Scully.

Hiding. As though what happened to me was a shameful secret. MY shameful secret; my shame...as if I were the one who had done something to be ashamed of, tainted by it.

And for Scully to be mocked....calm. Calm. Calm. She doesn't need me up on charges. She needs me here, beside her.

But that doesn't stop me from doing the next best thing. I marched back into Skinner's office and had a few quiet words with him. I expect that two very insensitive agents who are definitely NOT team-players will soon be working fertilizer detail.


	6. Chapter 6

**March 6, 1999**

I stayed up late last night and finished reading all 7 files, including autopsy reports and crime scene photos. I am beginning to know the killer.

He is a small man; small in soul and in stature. The angles of the knife wounds on the victims indicate very little height differential. He's between 5'6" and 5'8" tall. I suspect a stocky, muscular build, because he was able to overpower these women. Probably a body builder. His height bothers him, so he'd compensate by building muscles.

He isn't educated. He sees these women as a threat, these professional women. Two lawyers, one college professor, an engineer, a nurse, an anthropologist and a pharmacist form the group. But he's chosen small women. Yet these petite women have something he doesn't, stature. That makes him mad. He's been unable to form a stable sexual relationship in his life. He is either unattached or in a troubled heterosexual relationship. He has been dependent, on a wife/girlfriend or on his parents.

These...WOMEN....these TINY FRIGGIN' WOMEN...have it all...money, education....snooty, smug bitches. They look down on guys like me...sure I'm not tall, but I do okay. Except I'm not enough for them; I'm short and I'm a working man. I get my hands dirty, and wear working clothes. Not like them. They get paid double what I make and they wear clean clothes, nice expensive clothes. And they go with tall guys in nice suits; snub guys like me.

I know what I'd like to do to them....all of them. The china-doll pretty ones are the worst. Pretty baby-blue eyes, blonde hair, red hair, petite, like a little doll. I'd like to smash that little doll, make her scream, make her dirty, dirty, dirty in her nice clean clothes....

Yes, it's starting. I am beginning to know him, know his desires, his hatreds. He has a lot of hatreds, small and petty, just like he is. I don't remember writing these paragraphs above, but I know that I must have. That's my handwriting and my wrist is cramped.

I hope I can maintain control. It's never easy coming back, when I do this. It will be even harder this time. I hope that I can come back.

Reading over the words, I feel afraid for Scully. She is small, and so bright and so delicate. He would love to smash her into little pieces, because she is so perfect. He won't. I won't let him. He'll die first; or I will.

I'm meeting Scully at the office this morning. Davis is touring us through the "War Room" for this task force. I think I need to talk to Scully about my profiling this killer, and about her personal safety. Maybe it isn't too late to persuade her to get as far away from me as she can. If I do lose control, if I can't find my way back again and hurt her, I won't try for a clean end. Just a fast one.

* * *

**\---Later---**

Long day at the office. I have copies of the color photos of each victim and am taping them to the walls of my apartment. The key is the women, somehow. I will be visiting the various crime scenes...no, not crime scenes---their HOMES, to get a better idea of who they were and why he chose them.

I don't want to stay here and stare at them. I need air, space, something. I feel divided, into many people: Mulder the FBI agent, Mulder the rape victim, Mulder the...rapist? I am, you know. Scully may deny it, but I am. She no more consented to what happened than I did, although it was the best choice at the time. I can't stand this...the same thoughts are a repeating loop in my mind. Why didn't I stop them? Why didn't I jump for them BEFORE they made you rape Scully, instead of doing it AFTER? Did I WANT to fuck her? Of course I did....but...not that way...Why was I only desperate enough to jump them only AFTER I'd had Scully? How many times in six years have I fantasized about just throwing her across my desk and taking her?

I just saw the date. March 6. It was on March 6, 1992 that Scully was first assigned to the X Files. And the rest, as they say, was history.

I'd like to celebrate this anniversary, but I can't call her. I can't talk to her. She forgives me, but does she know me, really? Do I know myself?

And so I sit, here in my apartment, with the piles of paper and broken lives lying on my coffee table, and the faces of the lost staring at me from my walls.

* * *

**Dana Scully's Journal  
March 7, 1999**

Sunday morning, and I went to mass. It was comforting, even more so than usual. I need it. I had nightmares last night; more Kurt Willard. I woke up, just short of a scream. It was the same thing...the warehouse, Kurt Willard on top of me, telling me...

I needed mass today. The stained glass and incense remind me that there are graces beyond those of this earth. And I am grateful to know that.

I still feel shame, from the assault. I know that it wasn't my fault, not what they did to me, not what Mulder had to do, not the way I responded... But I feel almost a compulsion to go to Confession and ask for forgiveness and a penance, but for what I don't know. I just want to feel clean again.

Today is March 7, 1999. On March 7, seven years ago was my first case with Mulder, in Oregon. It seems such a short time, but how we have changed.

I wish I could get Mulder to mass, that he could take the comfort that I do in it. But it wouldn't work. He finds comfort in aliens, or the belief in sea-monsters. Not anything so truly incredible as a loving God.

Mulder needs love, and has had so little of it in his life.

And last night was a Saturday night but we didn't have a date. Mulder hasn't called.

I want my date. I want to keep dating him, whether this damned investigation goes forward or not. We are entitled to have lives, damn it! I'm going to call him.

And ask him out on a date.

* * *

**Fox Mulder's Journal  
March 7, 1999**

Scully just called and wants to meet me at my garage, where the 'stang is. That's curious. She said to wear my jeans and a grubby t-shirt. I don't know what on earth she has planned, but it sounds interesting.

* * *

**\---Later----**

I don't know whether to laugh, cry or thank a God I'm not sure I believe in for this woman.

Scully met me at the garage, and already had the door open. Note: Get this woman a key. She's too good with that lockpit kit.

She had spread a picnic lunch on the floor, complete with checkered table cloth, basket, fried chicken, salad, bread and sodas.

And next to the car sat a large paper sack with a ribbon on it.

Scully stood there with a shit-eating grin on her face. "Go ahead, open it. It's a happy anniversary gift. We've been partners for 7 years now, as of yesterday."

I crouched down and opened the paper sack and found a carburetor rebuild kit, solvent, gaskets, a Chilton's manual and several pairs of latex gloves. Huh?

Scully snickered at my expression, and said slowly and patiently, "Mulder, first we eat lunch. Then we rebuild your carburetor. I've thumb-tabbed the chapters on the 1964 1/2 Mustang and I think that between the two of us we can handle it."

God, I love this woman.

We spent the afternoon wearing latex (and don't think we didn't know it!), taking the old carb apart, cleaning it, replacing gaskets and reassembling it. That manual had multiple grease stains by the time we were through, but the carburetor worked like a song. How could it not, with the two of us working on it?

Seeing the normally fastidious Scully with grease on her nose was intensely erotic. I may be traumatized, but I'm not dead. And I've wanted this woman for so long. And I still do.

I still feel the clench in my gut that the thought of sex brings, but I won't let it win. I've waited so long for Scully, that Kurt Willard and nobody else will take her from me.

She's a pretty good mechanic, all those surgical skills coming out, I guess. And she's a natural in latex.

"Scully, that was a fantastic anniversary present, the best I ever had, " I told her as I wiped the smudge off her nose.

She grinned. "It's the first you've ever had...but not the last."

"Ooh, Scully, and what are you planning for next year?" I gave her my best leer, and was pleased when her grin brightened.

"Oh, you'll find out. I'm still looking at the lingerie  
catalogs." With that, she snapped off her latex gloves and shot them into the trash bucket. Like I said, she's a natural.

* * *

**Journal of Dana Scully  
March 9**

I see the bodies, everywhere I go. And each has my face.

I have reviewed the autopsy data, the photographs, examined those bodies which haven't already been released to their families.

And I see myself--powerless in the hands of murderers, my body become a thing in the eyes of my captors. And I feel trapped, buried in the clinging filth of their touch. It seeps inside my soul like a corrosive, eating away at my essence until nothing is left but terror.

And when I feel this way, I think of Mulder and feel him folding me into protective arms. I think I know now why I have wanted him, hungered for him so badly.

He is my safety. He is protection for me, clean and strong and bright. He is the shining glow of love in a dark pit, his fire unquenchable. When I touch him, I feel energized, whole again. I am safe, loved by a man who would die for me.

He doesn't know how much he did for me. I wish I could make him understand.

* * *

**Journal of Fox Mulder  
March 10, 1999**

I haven't written much, haven't had time. Erica's body hasn't turned up and time is running short. I've been to her apartment, and the homes of the other victims (damn! I hate that word). Nothing immediately useful. Scully and I have racked our brains trying to find any connections between these women that might lead to the killer. We've gathered bills, mail, address books, e-mail and internet bookmarks. Nothing correlates so far.

And every day I commune with the rapist. Scully is afraid for me, I can tell. She watches me silently as we work. I know him better, now: his terrible hatred for women. I know his self-hatred and his rage and above all, his driving need for control.

I understand that need.

The nightmares are changing. I'm still dreaming of the warehouse, of my own rape. But the perspective has changed. I feel removed from it, as though I am watching two separate figures, one brutally assaulting the other. But something in me admires the power of the one on top, his control of the situation. He isn't weak, isn't helpless, isn't crying and sobbing for help that will never come. I despise the weak one, the victim. How humiliating to be so unmanned, an object fit only for contempt.

And then I wake up and I am afraid. I remind myself of who I am, and what I'm about, but I crave the control, the power, but not, please God, the enjoyment of another's pain. My own pain. I haven't spoken to Scully about this, but she senses it anyway. I want to run, run far away from this case. But I can't.

Time is running out for Erica, and I'm the best chance she has.

Scully isn't holding up well, either. She's losing weight and, if the circles under her eyes are any clue, losing sleep too. She won't talk about it, but I can't complain because I won't discuss my nightmares either.

We work side by side, but we might as well both be encased in ice, for all the comfort we allow each other. I'm living for Saturday, when we have our regularly scheduled date, our excuse to let the shields down a bit.

I don't know how much longer I can live like this without turning into a monster myself. The dirt is piling up inside, enough that I'm left soiled by Kurt Willard, now I have the accumulated evil of this UNSUB.

* * *

**Dana Scully's Journal  
March 11, 1999**

I am worried about Mulder. He doesn't say much, but he's fading away from me. Every day he pours himself into the files, studies each and every detail of the victims' lives, and comes up with some other bit of ugliness to add to the profile of this killer.

Where that ugliness comes from frightens me. He admits that he has nightmares, but he won't talk about them. But then, I won't tell him about mine. We are both silent in the face of a monster bigger than us both. It grows every day.

I want to reach out to him. I need him. But he shies away, afraid that by being with him I'll be endangered somehow. Does he think that he somehow brought on Willard's attacks on us?

* * *

**Fox Mulder's Journal  
March 13, 1999**

Oh God...oh god..oh god...got to call Scully, can't call Scully...I promised I would....I promised.... I have to call Scully....

* * *

**Journal of Dana Scully  
March 13, 1999**

Mulder is finally asleep, thank God.

I am writing this, sitting by Mulder's bedside in his apartment. He wouldn't even let me go into the living room, needs me here--close. I've begun bringing this book with me wherever I go, to release the thoughts inside when they become overwhelming.

Today I am overwhelmed.

He called me this morning, early, about 4:00 a.m. I picked up the phone, with the groggy feeling that this must be Mulder and something was terribly wrong. Only he calls me at this time of day.

"Yeah...hello," I mumbled into the receiver.

At first there was only silence, and I was ready to hang it up. Then I heard a low sobbing sound.

"Mulder? Is that you? Mulder--say something! Mulder!!"

The sobbing sound continued, then he began to speak.

"S..s..scully....please...come over. I need you...I can't...oh god...no, don't come over. It isn't safe. Bring your gun....I promised to call...and this is it...but if you don't get here fast, I don't know if I can wait for you....." His voice was edged with hysteria and clogged with tears. I was already up and moving, dressing as I talked.

"Mulder, I'm on my way. Hold on, just hold on. Wait for me--don't do ANYTHING until I get there...okay? I'm on my cell phone and we'll keep talking as I go, so you won't be alone. Just keep talking to me..."

I pulled clothing on, grabbed my weapon and car keys, then shot out the door my cell phone glued to my ear.

Before long the conversation consisted of my talking to him, a stream of soothing noises, and the sound of wrenching sobs on his end. God, what could have happened?

Halfway there, his line cut out. I couldn't tell if he'd hung up on me or been cut off. Oh, God, don't think about it, just drive FASTER. I floored the gas, praying frantically...don't let him give up, don't let him kill himself. Oh, Mulder, wait for me, wait for me. Hold on...I'm coming...I'll be there soon...soon...

I don't think I've ever made the drive to Mulder's apartment in better time.

I got to Mulder's apartment to find the door locked. He didn't answer my knock. I opened the door with my key to find his living room dark and quiet. I drew my weapon and made my way into the bedroom.

Mulder was huddled on the bed, dressed in t-shirt and shorts, curled into a fetal position rocking back and forth. He held his gun in one hand; his eyes were shut and streaming with tears and he was muttering under his breath, "No...no...no, please no..." The phone had dropped to the floor. No obvious signs of violence.

I approached him slowly, keeping my gun drawn.

"Mulder...Mulder it's me. What's happened? What's wrong?" Gingerly, I sat on the bed next to him and reached out my hand to touch his shoulder. His eyes flew open and he recoiled violently, bringing the gun up to point it at me, the other hand up in front of him defensively. I drew back sharply, and he looked down at the gun. Then he met my eyes in horror and dropped the weapon, covering his face with both his hands.

"Mulder, it's me, Scully...I won't hurt you....You called me, remember? I'm here," I kept up a soft litany of soothing noises while I fished the gun off the bedspread and stuck it into my belt. Then I holstered my own weapon. He put his hands down and hugged his knees to his chest and began rocking again. But this time his eyes were open and lucid.

"Scully..." He choked on a sob and turned his face away. "Don't look at me; I can't stand you to look at me...."

"Mulder...I'm going to call the paramedics. I think we should get you to a hospital...." He gave me a panicky look.

"No..no hospital...no people...please Scully..please..."

"Then tell me what's wrong. Can you talk about it?" I moved a little closer to him, wanting to hold him, protect him from whatever it was that was preying on his soul.

His eyes closed and he leaned back, rolling his head from side to side. When he opened them again, he was staring at the ceiling and not at me.

"I've been having nightmares, every night, since...since the rape. But you know that."

I nodded. "Yes, I know. I have them too."

Mulder turned his gaze to the blanket between us. "Since we started this case, since I've been profiling...my...dreams have changed. I dream HIS dreams...feel his feelings in my sleep...."

As he spoke, he held his arms tighter across his knees, hunching smaller and smaller.

"I feel his needs...his power...his need for control...Every night it's stronger...And I want his control, I want his power....I want not to be a victim any more...."

I was silent. I understood the need for control; who better? Mulder's voice roughened and he rocked a little as he went on.

"I've dreamed of my rape, these last nights....I've been my own rapist, reveling in the power...disgusted with the victim's weakness...his puling attempts to fight me off...." He wouldn't look at me, his voice was a soft monotone. Oh, Mulder...

"But I could...could...handle that. I know what a sorry showing I made in that warehouse....I could live with it..." He looked up, finally and found my eyes. His face was pale and stricken, agony written across it.

"I could....live....with the dreams until last night. Last night...I wasn't my own rapist. I was _him_, the one I'm profiling. I...kidnapped Erica Scott from her living room and took her..someplace. I started raping her...and she screamed...and pleaded..and I loved the powerful feeling it gave me. And...and...I looked down at her face....she was crying....her voice changed, and her face did....and it was YOU, Scully. You were underneath me, screaming at me to stop...and I didn't...I didn't...." Mulder covered his face with his hands, taking gulping breaths, then continued, with his face still covered.

"I...came inside you....then I pulled you to your feet and...and...slammed you against the wall...and you were crying...You looked at me like I'd betrayed you...and I had...I...You...were bleeding....from what I'd done....And there was a knife in my hand....I stabbed you and stabbed you and watched the life leave your face..... And...and...I felt ...that rush...Oh God....I want to die. I can't....live....with this....I can't let this happen..." Mulder broke down then, and crouched forward onto the bed, burying his face in the mattress, sobbing deep, wrenching sounds

Oh.......this was bad. So very bad. "Then you woke up? And called me?" I spoke very softly and gently. Mulder nodded, his face still buried.

"Mulder, do you think that you've become the monster?" He nodded, still hiding his face from me.

"Would it help if I told you that I don't think you are a monster at all? You're vulnerable right now to these sorts of images, and you're profiling a very violent man. And I do look like the victims on this case. Mulder, in my eyes you're a hero, and your telling me this hasn't changed my opinion."

He slowly looked up, meeting my eyes. "Scully, if this...personality...gains control over me I could kill you and get off on it. I...I...can't live with that; can't allow it to happen. I...know...that I'm vulnerable to this...I've known it since I took the case. Since the warehouse...I...know I'm...tainted. I'm your rapist Scully, despite the comfort you've tried to give me...I still raped you. How much farther is there to go from that warehouse, to killing you and enjoying it?"

I'd sworn to myself that I would never watch that damned tape ever again, nor would I ever encourage Mulder to do so. But this...he truly believed that he had raped me, and none of my reassurances would convince him otherwise. He'd merged the UNSUB's motivations and needs with his own guilt and trauma, and his memory of what happened to us was colored by that.

"Mulder, I am going to make a phone call in the living room. I'm not leaving you and I'm not calling the paramedics, okay? Just stay here.." He nodded dumbly as I carefully backed away and went into the other room.

I dialed Skinner's home number.

He answered groggily.

"Sir? It's me, Scully."

"Scully, why the hell are you calling at this hour? Is it Mulder? What's wrong?" I could hear him becoming more awake by the second.

"Yes, it's Mulder. He's in a bad way...I'm at his apartment. I need you to do something for me; could you come here and bring the tape with you? The one of the warehouse."

I could hear him suck in his breath. "Scully, if Mulder is suicidal, are you sure that he should see that thing? Why show it to him? How is it going to help him?"

"He's reliving the rapes, through our current UNSUB's eyes. He's convinced that he's capable of killing me and enjoying it. I have to show him who he really is, and what he actually did for me."

I heard silence at the other end, then Skinner said softly, "Are you sure he can take it? Can you?"

"I can stand it. Mulder has to _know_. And sir, I'm calling in a prescription for a sedative and a hypodermic syringe at an all-night pharmacy. Would you pick that up on your way in? I'm afraid to leave him."

"I'll get them, and I'll be there as fast as I can. And Scully, keep your weapon handy just in case."

I went back into the bedroom to find Mulder huddled where I'd left him. I found an afghan and draped it over him, then put a kettle on for tea.

Soon I had him sitting up, wrapped in the blanket, cupping a mug of Lipton's in his hands.

"I'm sorry I'm such a screw-up, Scully," Mulder rasped. "You keep having to bail me out when I go off the deep end. You shouldn't have to do that."

"You'd do the same for me. You have." I sipped my own tea and watched him carefully. "Are you feeling any better?"

"No." Mulder wouldn't meet my eyes. Damn. He was planning what he'd do when I finally did leave. I couldn't leave him, or he'd die.

I heard a knock at the door and mentally blessed Skinner for being so fast. Mulder started when he heard the knock. "That's just Skinner, he's bringing some things I asked for."

Mulder nodded. I ran to the door and let Skinner in. He peered around the apartment anxiously. "Where is he?" He handed me a small paper sack and a videotape.

"Mulder's in the bedroom."

Skinner was eyeing the walls of the apartment uncomfortably. Damn. I'd forgotten that Skinner has never seen Mulder's apartment when he's profiling. Mulder has taped up photos of the victims, diagrams of the crime scenes, news clippings, bits of evidence, covering his walls with the facts of the seven abductions. Even graphic photos of the bodies, as they were found, were scattered among them. I didn't have to ask Skinner what he thought about it; it showed in his eyes.

"Can you handle this alone? Do you need me here? Do you think you're in any danger?"

"No, no danger. We'll be okay. I'll call you if I need help. And sir...thanks."

Skinner nodded and left.

I set the sack and the videotape down on the coffee-table and went into the bedroom to check on Mulder.

Inside the bedroom, I sat down next to him. He was still withdrawn, and pale. "Is Skinner here?" he asked.

"He's just left." I studied Mulder searchingly. I hoped that he could endure what I was about to do, but he had to know the truth. All of it.

"Mulder, I've known you for 7 years and in that time you've never flinched from the truth, no matter how unpleasant. You taught me that an ugly truth is always preferable to an attractive lie, or to ignorance. Since the warehouse, I have asked you to believe a truth that you find hard to accept."

"I know where you're going with this, Scully, and it doesn't wash. I know what happened there, and I know how I felt...and how I feel. I'm dirty, tainted by something evil. Profiling this case has made it worse, and it's changing me into something I can't...can't live with."

"Mulder, the truth that I have been trying to tell you is that you are not an evil man, you are not sadistic. You are heroic in my eyes, and nothing will change that belief. The core that is _you_, Fox Mulder, is a gentle man and violence is as alien to you as it is to any humane person. But I think that you need to see proof. I have some evidence that I want you to see." I got up and held out my hand to him. He took it hesitantly and followed me into the living room.

I sat Mulder down on the couch and put the tape into the VCR, then sat down next to him. Mulder shied away when he saw the tape.

"No, I can't watch that. Scully, I can't live through that again...I can't. With this...personality...inside me, do you know what might happen? Do you?" Mulder's voice was trembling and I could see tears beginning to roll down his cheeks. "No, Scully...I can't. I'll....I'll hurt you...or...I don't want to watch you being hurt....not by me."

I grabbed his chin and made him look at me. "Then we'll face it together. Do you think I want to lose you, day by day, minute by minute, behind a wall of silence? I'm tired of being "fine", I'm not "fine" and neither are you! The truth is...!" I was shouting, I lowered my voice. "The truth is that neither of us is "fine" and we need each other to heal from this. I _need_ you. You _need_ me. I can't do this alone..and neither can you. I don't want to try any more. Please?"

Mulder looked deep into my eyes, the first real look he'd given me in a week. "Okay. But do I get popcorn?"

I smiled, a little trembly, but a smile. "Maybe later." I turned on the VCR.

As the snow cleared, I saw the interior of the warehouse and felt Mulder's hand slip into mine. I saw myself dragged into the cameras' range, knocked out and stripped of clothing.

I could see Mulder, next to me, begin to tremble. He held my hand tighter. When I woke and Benny started to abuse me, Mulder sat very close and put his right arm around me protectively. I could feel myself beginning to shake and the tears begin to fall down my cheeks.

Then Kurt began to speak, terrible things, awful things, promises of what he would do to me, what they would do. I saw the despair on my own face; the certainty that there was no way out. I couldn't watch and buried my head into Mulder's shoulder. He held me close and cried with me, his eyes fixed on the screen.

"Scully...oh Scully, I didn't know...why didn't you tell me?" he whispered.

"I tried, but I just didn't have the words. And you were in so much pain, I couldn't add to your burden. I couldn't tell you... And I was so afraid. All I could think of was what was going to happen. I knew what the injuries would be--what they'd do to me--what my body would look like in the morgue." I could hear my voice breaking as I began sobbing. "I had no hope."

Mulder just held me while I sobbed aloud.

Then we saw Mulder stumble in and try to go to me. I hadn't seen it, only heard it. Oh, Mulder...how you tried. And then he came to me and tried to stand between me and the killers.

By the time the tape got to Mulder's choice, we sat almost on top of one another, arms wrapped about each other protectively. On the tape, he saw my panic and his own fear, anguish, decision. And I think he saw my acceptance. I hope he did.

While Mulder made love to me, my face showed what I hoped he would see: love and faith and trust. And in his own face, I think he finally saw the determination and love I saw.

When we got to my escape, I saw something new. Mulder's desperation to get me out of there, and my own hesitation at leaving him. Maybe, just maybe I didn't betray him? I still felt like I did, but...

After I the scene of my escape, I grabbed the remote, to stop the tape. Mulder put his hand on mine.

"No," he said softly. "The whole truth, Scully. All of it. We can do this."

And so we watched to the bitter end. I was crying, and so was he. But, while I ache for him, for what was done to him, I no longer feel personal responsibility for what happened to him. I didn't cause the rape. Kurt Willard did, and he's dead.

Long after the tape faded to snow, Mulder and I sat on the couch holding each other close.

"Now do you believe me? Mulder, you didn't enjoy my rape, did you? It wasn't entertaining for you. It was..."

"Scully, it was Hell." He cupped my chin with this hand and looked at me. "You're right, I didn't enjoy it. I could never enjoy something like that. And...I didn't enjoy my own rape...I chose _nothing_ of what happened to me. It was forced on me, as it was on you."

"Mulder, you saved me from what Kurt Willard promised he'd do to me. That was the act of a good and gentle man. Do you remember who you are now?"

Mulder smiled and nodded. "I'm the man who loves Dana Scully."

I felt an immediate thrill inside. He loves me. He said it. He loves me. I could feel a slow smile growing on my face. Mulder noticed and he gave me a shy smile back.

Then his face darkened a bit. "But the case isn't over yet. I still have to work on the profile."

I was quiet, watching his expression. More than anything I want this case to be gone from our lives. The damage it has compounded has been incalculable.

Mulder yawned and rubbed his eyes. He was still in shock from all this turmoil. Reluctantly, I got up and went over to the table and opened the paper sack.

"What's that?" he asked suspiciously.

"I had Skinner pick up a sedative for you. Don't worry, it's mild. I think you ought to sleep." At his jerk, I added hastily "I don't think you'll have any more nightmares. And if you do, I'll be here."

"Will you stay in the bedroom with me?" he asked fearfully.

"Of course. I'm not going anywhere." I swabbed his arm with alcohol (Mulder has a well-stocked medicine cabinet thanks to me) and gave him the injection. Then I helped him to bed, covered him up and sat with him until he fell asleep.

Now I am left alone with my thoughts. The wall is down, the silence broken. Or so I hope.

And my own silence had become so hard to bear. I am still afraid; the case isn't over and Mulder is still the principal profiler. I hope that he is stronger, and more sure of who he is. I pray that he can withstand whatever this case will throw at us next.


	7. Chapter 7

**Journal of Fox Mulder  
March 14, 1999**

It's late, no...early, very early Sunday, about 4:00 a.m. I just got home from Scully's apartment. I have her to thank that I survived.

Early Saturday morning, my first thought was to find my gun and just end the pain, all of it: Samantha, years of being mocked and disbelieved, the rape. But the most horrible violation of all was the sense that I no longer had control of my own psyche, that I could kill someone I love and derive pleasure from it. The darkness was terrible and the possibility, unendurable. I'm glad I remembered my promise to Scully, to call her before I did anything. After the call, I just waited and held the gun and endured.

Scully's right, whatever else I may be I am not a murderer or a rapist. I still feel shaky, but better. Oh, Scully, what happened to you...I wish I had known. I wish I could give you one quarter of the comfort you've given me.

After I slept, I woke up from Scully's little barbiturate cocktail at about 1:00, with the afternoon sun streaming in the window. At first I didn't remember the events of the morning, but I could feel a sort of emotional cloud inside...oh yeah, the nightmare...my gun...calling Scully for help.

I rolled over and found Scully asleep on the other side of the bed, curled up--yes, like a baby cat. Her journal lay open next to her hand and I saw my name on the page. It's a very bad habit, for which Scully will kill me, but I read her journal.

Ah Scully, I didn't know you felt this deeply about me. I wish I deserved it. I'm glad you see me as a place of safety. I wish I really could protect you, that you'd let me. And with all the hell you've been through since the warehouse; you never said anything. But I expected that.

Our problem is pretty basic, I guess. We don't talk. We look at each other, we glance, we touch, we give little innuendoes filled with hidden meaning, but we don't talk. And even when we do talk, we cloud it in excessive verbiage which intentionally obfuscates the point.

She isn't seeing a therapist; she lied. Well, if she won't talk to a therapist, maybe she'll talk to a friend. She's right, we need each other.

I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, brushing the hair out of her face. She opened sleepy eyes and smiled at me.

"Mulder," she yawned. "What time is it?" Then she saw her journal, open in my hands.

"Mulder," she started reproachfully, then sighed. "Okay, I guess fair is fair. I read your journal first." She looked down at the blankets and picked at the lint absently.

"Scully." She looked up when I said her name. "Scully, I had no idea how deeply you felt about me. Not like this. You've never said anything, not right out. I always had to guess, and I was afraid I'd guess wrong."

"It's all true," Scully said softly. "Now do you understand what I've been trying to tell you? Do you know how much I love you? The thought of losing you tears me apart inside. And the possibility that you would, of your own will, take yourself out of this life...is unbearable to me."

I was shaken. I'd never thought of Scully's feelings for me as being akin to mine for her. She's strong, a survivor. If I died, she'd go on, marry, have a life. Wouldn't she?

She took my left hand in the palm of her left and stroked my fingers with her right hand. "I don't know what I would do if I lost you. Please, don't wait to call me if this happens again."

I gave her a hesitant smile. "Scully, believe me, if it happens again, you'll be the first I call. Besides, you bring good drugs with you."

I cleared my throat and went on. "Sometimes it's hard for me to be serious, but I am now. Scully, I want to be your protection, your safe place. I know you don't want me hovering over you protectively, and I respect that. Just as I respect your abilities. But, when you need a quiet place, I want you to know that I'll be there for you. Always."

I found myself with an armful of Scully (very nice) and I think that we were then able to communicate many things non-verbally. We broke up the clinch when my stomach growled. I grinned, shamefacedly.

"Well, I guess it's lunch time on a Saturday. What'll it be? Pizza or Chinese?"

She wrinkled her nose and sat up. "How are you feeling? You must be better if you can eat." She studied me carefully and I could feel her counting my ribs through my t-shirt. Yeah, I've lost weight lately. I wasn't eating much before this case, and I eat even less when I'm profiling.

"I'm better. I feel more centered. The sleep helped. I think that was the first sleep I've had without nightmares in weeks."

Scully's hand came out and stroked my forehead, ostensibly checking for fever but I know a caress when I feel one. "How are you, really?" she asked simply.

Tough question. "Am I suicidal? No, not actively. I'm satisfied that I won't hurt you. Will I ever get suicidal again? I don't know, Scully." I saw her dissatisfied look and added, "I'm sorry I can't be more definite, but I owe you the truth."

She nodded. "Well, you're better than you were. We need to call Skinner and get you off this case somehow. You can't stay, it'll kill you."

"No, I disagree," I protested. "I'm still Erica Scott's best chance and she deserves that. I've passed the crisis, I'll be okay. Really." Scully just pierced me with that skeptical look she's patented. She knows a line of bullshit when she hears it.

"So, would you like to go out? It is Saturday, you know." She looked puzzled, so I added, "Our _date_, remember? It's my turn to treat you."

"You are changing the subject." Scully looked at me, then leaned back, resting against my chest.

"Yes. I am. And I'm still hungry. So, what will it be?"

She gave me a speculative look. "Are you sure you're up for it?"

I leered and answered her. "Agent Scully, for you I am always _up_ for it. And I'm hungry, too. So, what's for lunch?"

"Thai food. And make it spicy." Scully and spicy food, now there's a combination. Most of the fair-haired people I've ever known have had no tolerance for hot foods. And then there's Scully. She likes to say that she teethed on jalapeños, and having grown up in San Diego, she appreciates Mexican food.

"Agent Scully, I know just the place, in Georgetown..." I gently dislodged her head from my chest (reluctantly) and went to shower and shave.

We had a peaceful lunch and a leisurely stroll through Georgetown, window shopping and sight-seeing.

When the sun went down, Scully insisted on making dinner for me at her place. "And besides, I want to show you something."

"Oh, and what would that be?" I asked archly. Mentally, I was torn between the hope that it was some great new lingerie and the fear that it was some great new lingerie. I'm serious about not wanting to go too far until I test clean. And the idea of sex with Scully....wondrous, intoxicating...also conjures up demons still all too vivid. I want her, but I'm just not ready yet. I don't know if I can...even with her.

"You'll see," was all she would say.

I discovered, when we got to her apartment, not great new lingerie, but something even more tantalizing: a wide screen television and premium cable.

"Scully, I didn't think you even watched television." I picked up the remote longingly. I must have been fondling it, because Scully started laughing.

"Yes, Mulder, I do watch television, and videos. I just thought it was time to get a decent television set and cable to go with it. The man from City Cable was here on Friday to hook up the cable service."

She snuggled next to me on the couch and wrapped her arm around my waist. "Besides, I have this new boyfriend who really likes television. I thought he might enjoy watching public television with me."

I turned to Scully, my eyes widening. "Very cultured, your boyfriend, huh?"

She smirked. "Oh, very. He especially likes nature shows, you know, birds...bees..."

As she leaned in for my kiss I whispered "Let's keep bees out of this relationship, huh?...."

Dinner was late. We spent some time necking on the couch like teenagers. Boyfriend. She called me her boyfriend. I like that sound...boyfriend. Does that make her my "girlfriend"? Are we going "steady"? Can you go "steady" while in your late 30's and no longer a virgin? Hell, I'm just glad I'm her 'boyfriend'.

After dinner, and some more necking, we tried out the television set. The cable worked beautifully and we spent the rest of the evening watching a Star Trek marathon...and necking some more.

All in all the day ended much better than I expected it to. I'm not on a morgue slab--which was all I could see when I woke up.

I have strict orders from my doctor to spend Sunday quietly at home, but to call her at least once to check in. I always follow my doctor's orders.

* * *

**March 15, 1999  
Monday**

I got to the office early, about 7:30 a.m. Just as I put my coat down, the phone rang and I moved to answer it.

"Mulder? How are you feeling?" It was Skinner's voice and he didn't sound happy. He sounded on edge. I could hear noises in the background.

"Much better, sir. Is there something wrong?"

"Yes. Erica Scott's body just turned up. I'm at the scene...." My gut clenched. Damn, damn, damn, damn...too late. We were too damned late. And I could hear the question he wanted to ask. Was I up to working on this case, or would he be forced to explain the suicide of the lead profiler?

"We're ready to help, sir. Where are you?" I scribbled down the address he gave me.

"Is Agent Scully there with you?" he asked.

"No, she's still at home, but I'll call her. We'll meet you there."

I telephoned Scully. She was almost ready to leave for work.

"No, you'll have to meet me at a crime scene. They found Erica's body. Skinner's there now. He want's us." I gave her the address and she agreed to meet me there.

The body had been found in a vacant lot about ten miles from the Hoover Building, hidden in some bushes. The city police had already arrived and the area was taped off. I pulled on latex gloves and wandered over to where Skinner was standing, surveying the area dismally.

He turned as we approached and gave me a visual once-over. "Agent. The body was found by a jogger about an hour ago. We are canvassing the area for any witnesses who may have seen who dumped her here."

I walked over to the body and squatted down to examine it, then felt a hand on my forearm.

"Mulder, you don't have to be here. She's gone, her father can hardly object if you leave the case at this time." Skinner was looking at me with something like compassion.

"No, I have to be here. I have to find this guy, or all my work, all my...experiences...on this case will have been wasted. And her family needs the closure." I could still see doubt in his eyes. "Sir, trust me. I can handle this."

He took his hand off my sleeve and let me examine the body. The body lay face down and was half covered by dirt and vegetation, but it didn't hide the stab wounds. Not much blood, though. She was killed somewhere else.

Then coroner turned the body over and I gasped. The resemblance was even more pronounced in person. God, she could have been Scully's twin. I couldn't stop staring at her face, her blue eyes open in amazement. Blue eyes so like Scully's. Scully....she sure was taking a long time getting here....Oh well, sometimes she does that.

I wandered over the crime scene, one among many forensics people looking for the same thing: evidence that would lead us to this SOB.

I spotted a small scrap of paper in the leaves near where the body had been and carefully picked it up. It was printed on one side, part of a bill?

It was pink and said "City C.." The rest was torn off. No other writing. I put it into a plastic evidence bag and began studying it. I considered--It could be nothing. 'City Cafe?' or 'City Cat-care?'...then a terrible thought hit me. Oh my God, and Scully fits the profile.

I pulled out my cell phone and frantically called her home number. No answer. I tried her cell phone. No answer. Shit! shit! shit! I started running for my car.

"Skinner! City Cable---the UNSUB works for City Cable! We have to get to Scully's apartment, _fast_!"

His eyes widened and he began to run after me, shouting into his cell phone. I got to my car first, peeling out, leaving him behind as the agents scattered.

* * *

**Fox Mulder's Journal, continued...  
March 15, 1999**

When I arrived at Scully's apartment house, squealing to a stop in front of the building, I could see that I was already too late. The area was taped off and police were interviewing witnesses. I didn't see Scully anywhere.

I flashed my badge at the cop and ran inside. Scully's apartment door was open and I could see forensics workers combing the place. I hurried over to the detective in charge and flashed my badge again.

"Hello," he said. "Agent....Mulder? Is the Bureau taking over?"

I looked around, hoping against hope that Scully would be there somewhere. She wasn't. "Probably. I'm Agent Scully's partner. Where is she? Can you tell me what happened?"

"I'm Detective Jenkins, Alexandria P.D. A neighbor called and said she heard the sounds of a fight, then saw Ms...er...Agent Scully being carried out the door, apparently unconscious. A man described as," he looked at his notepad. "Short, stocky, with dark hair and mustache had her in a fireman's carry and loaded her into a gray or white van. The witness didn't get a license number."

I could feel myself slump. I pulled the plastic baggie from my pocket and handed it to Jenkins. "The suspect you want is an employee of City Cable, probably a cable service man. This was found at the scene where the body of Erica Scott was found this morning. He's a serial rapist-murderer operating in the Alexandria area, and my partner and I have been assisting in the investigation. You've got to call City Cable and find out who this guy is."

"I'm familiar with the case. She would fit the profile at that." Jenkins glanced at a photo of Scully and her mother on the side table, and pulled out his cell phone.

I wandered around the apartment, looking, looking for clues, something. I heard a step behind me and found Skinner there, a look of sympathy on his face.

"Agent, there's nothing you can do here. You're only getting in the way of the forensics team. Why don't you go back to the office and wait for developments?"

"What about the suspect? Are they going to pick him up? When can we go?"

Skinner nodded toward Jenkins. "I've just spoken to him. The police are already out there and he isn't home. They're searching the house and there's no evidence that he took any of the victims there."

"I need to see it; see where he lives. It could give me some leads." Skinner had a familiar set to his jaw that told me he didn't support the idea.

"Agent Mulder, competent investigators from the police and the Bureau are on scene. I don't think you're up to more profiling just now."

"But I know this guy, I'm the one most qualified..." I started, but Skinner began to shake his head.

"No. You shouldn't be on this case any more. And with Erica Scott dead, there's no reason for me to keep you on it."

"Scully's my..._partner_..." I forced the words out through gritted teeth. "She'd give her life for me; I owe her..."

Skinner just gave me a compassionate look and shook his head. I decided to change tactics.

"Has Maggie Scully been told?" I asked. Skinner nodded.

"I called her on the way over. She's on telephone standby. There's no reason for her to come out here and watch the police work."

"I'll call her," I started to get my cell phone, when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't do it here. From the office, Mulder."

So here I am, in the basement office at the Hoover Building. The repair man who installed Scully's cable, Everett Berger, is 5' 6", dark-haired, stocky with a mustache. Today's his day off; he hasn't been to work and wasn't at home.

I called Maggie Scully. She was collected and calm, very like her daughter in a crisis.

"Mrs. Scully, I just want you to know that we'll find her. I won't leave any stone unturned; I'll find her." I was trying to convince myself as much as her.

"I know you'll do your best, Fox. I'll pray for you both."

Now why does that make me feel a little better?

Using a few little tricks the boys taught me, I've  
discovered the address for Berger and I'm going out there to see what I can find. Scully's life is worth more than my career. Shit! My sorry-ass life is worth more than hers. I'll do whatever it takes to bring her home.

* * *

**\---Later----**

I'm at home with the bits and pieces I was able to gather from Berger's house. It looks like he inherited it from his parents. Old but serviceable furniture, no sign of hobbies. He lives alone, no pets. But I found some interesting stuff.

A photograph album, a calendar, some paperback books. I spent a good two hours there, absorbing the atmosphere, learning him.

What I'm about to do probably isn't my smartest action, but I don't see any choice. Berger knows by now that the police are after him; he won't go back home. He has Scully some place that feels safe to him. He's a planner, stalked Scully and examined her habits and took her to a place he prepared for her. He won't be found easily.

He won't rape her right away. His hatred is so great that he has to gloat over his victims, try to humiliate them first. Scully.....

I have the file here, all the photographs, evidence,  
everything I need. I'll find her.

* * *

NOTE, LEFT FOLDED ON MULDER'S DESK ON TOP OF FLOPPY DISK. 

Scully,

I'm leaving you my journal on this disk; I want you to know my thoughts while I'm lucid. And I want to leave you this letter, while I can. As I write this, you're being held by that bastard Everett Berger, our serial killer. I can only see one way to find you, and Skinner has forbidden me to try. Well, you know how I feel about authority.

You know how I react to profiling. I may actually join Patterson this time; I don't know if I can find my way back to you. I'll try. I just want you to know that. But if I don't make it back, I want you to know how I feel about you.

Scully, you're the center of my life, my heart and my soul. You always will be, whether I am able to comprehend that or not. I've never found it easy to say "I love you", but I've been learning how important it is in recent days. I do love you, with all my heart. And I always will.

But if I end up sharing a padded cell with Bill Patterson, don't waste your time around me. Find yourself a life and go live it. Working with you has been the best time of my life and I'll always have that.

God, that sounds maudlin, doesn't it? But I mean it, Scully.

I love you always,

Mulder

* * *

UNDATED NOTES ON FOX MULDER'S DESK, WEIGHED DOWN BY SERVICE WEAPON. FOUND BY WALTER S. SKINNER (A.D., FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION)

\---Damned little women...china dolls, that's what they are...shrill voices...think they're better than me.

So I work hard, they despise me because I work with my hands...I'll show them how I work with my hands. No...they want clean men, well-dressed men...big men.

That little red-head, cute, bossy. Buys that big-ass television set that I could never afford. No. I just get to install it, that's all. And connect the cable. She wouldn't know one end of a cable box from another, but she has money. And I saw that guy that she's with--designer suits, tall. I hate jerks like that.

Well he can't have her. She belongs to me. She'll always belong to me. I'll be the last man she ever has, and I'll be the last thing she ever sees.

\--------

Extreme rage against women....was he sexually abused by one as a child? Or maybe hurt by one as an adolescent?

Obsessed with height. Obsessed with work--his work, his work is manual labor of some kind--of course, cable and electronics. Not 'clean' enough for him...

Where did he take her?

Kills them in a frenzy---multiple stab wounds, over 49 in victim number 6. Restrains them with cords--abrasions on wrists and ankles. Control and dominance uppermost...not much control in his life....

Dumps the bodies in vacant lots, dumpsters. Sees the victims as 'used up', as 'garbage'. He wants their essence, their 'stature', takes it by destroying them and tries to infuse it into himself.... 

Safe place...my safe place....where? where is it? Come on, Everett, tell me...

Home, gotta take them home...not the house, a happy place. Look at the pictures in the scrapbook---a young man standing with elderly people in front of a farm house. Outbuildings in the back. Another picture of a younger man standing over a dead deer, with older man--grandfather.

Safe place.

Grandparents house. Shed out back, or outbuilding. Too much blood to sully happy place...use shed.

Thank God for friends who are hackers. Address for grandparents' house:

32404 Moorhen Road  
Gordonton Maryland

Grandparents died 4 years ago, house inherited by an aunt. She's lives in Florida, so it's vacant.

Skinner's number: 202/555-3425

Leave message....Won't wait for backup. Sorry Skinner...

* * *

MESSAGE ON VOICEMAIL  
(202) 555-3425  
Datestamped: 5/15/99 4:02 p.m.

Sir, this is Agent Mulder (slurry voice), I..uh..looked over the files on the Berger case...I think he's at his grandparents' house. It's vacant now..has been for years. Address is...address is....uh... 32404 Moorhen Road Gordonton Maryland...He won't kill her yet, but we need to get there. I'm on my way...

(long pause--heavy breathing sounds)

I..he's inside me...I can feel his emotions, his hate. I think..I have some..empathy for Patterson...I..don't know what's going to happen, but I have to get to Scully. If it looks like I'm a danger to her, shoot me. Please.

* * *

WASHINGTON POST  
MARCH 16, 1999  
MORNING EDITION

\--Late Monday evening FBI agents and police arrested a man suspected of raping and murdering 7 women, including Erica Scott, daughter of Senator Gareth Scott, whose body was found yesterday.

A woman, not yet identified, who was held captive by him was treated briefly for minor injuries and released. A Federal Agent involved in the arrest has been hospitalized with undisclosed injuries.


	8. Chapter 8

**Journal of Dana Scully  
March 16, 1999**

They won't let me see him. Damn! Skinner told them it was too dangerous and they won't let me see him.

I've argued and explained and threatened but Skinner just looks at me and says nothing.

I might as well describe everything that happened. I'm so upset it might calm me. As I write this I am sitting on a couch in the hospital waiting room for the special section. I am NOT going home until they let me see him.

On Monday morning, after Mulder's call, I was finishing my makeup, but still needed shoes and my gun when the doorbell rang. I checked the peephole and saw the guy who installed my television set and cable there. Suspecting nothing, I opened the door.

"Hello Ms. Scully," he smiled. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I realized that I installed the wrong splitter for your type of television set. Your reception my be okay now, but it won't last long. I'd like to exchange it for the proper one, if you don't mind. It'll only take a minute." He held up a small gadget and looked at me appealingly.

"Well, I'm in kind of a hurry, but okay, if it's fast." I opened the door and let him in, then turned my back to lead him to the t.v. set. Big mistake.

I felt a blow to my head and the reality of the situation hit me just as the unconsciousness did. This was HIM, the one who killed all those women.

I must have been out for some hours, because when I woke up the late afternoon sun was slanting through the windows of the shed where I lay. I was still fully dressed and was tied, wrists and ankles. I could see daylight through the holes in the corrugated iron that formed the walls of this place. Wooden floor, and old farm implements made up the rest of the decor.

Damn! I recalled all too well waking up in that warehouse and what happened after. Only this time, there was no Mulder to share it with me. I struggled with the cords but there was little give. But the killer wasn't here, and I was grateful for the time to plan.

I got mad. No, I got enraged. I would NOT be made a victim a second time. I'd die first and take him with me. Somehow. And knowing Mulder, he'd be moving heaven and earth to find me. He'll get here. I know he will. What would Mulder do in this situation? He'd psych the guy out. What had Mulder said about him? Small of soul and of stature. Small ego. Play on that.

Whatever the other women had tried didn't work. They died. Well, I'm a Federal Agent, I have training. That has to count for something. And dammit, I'm _tired_ of this.

About half an hour later he came into the shed.

I tried to look non-threatening and asked hesitantly "What's going on? Why did you take me?" That's right Starbuck, play innocent. He doesn't know you're FBI, so we won't tell him.

"You wouldn't understand. All you women, you little ones especially." He studied me closely. "You're friendlier than the other ones."

Good. Keep him thinking that way. "When you came out on Friday, you seemed so nice, like such a pleasant guy. I just don't understand why you're doing this. What do you want?..." I gave him what I hoped was a non-threatening, pleading look.

"You're lying. Women always are. They don't want a guy like me; I'm short and I'm a working man."

"So the only way to get a woman is to kidnap one?" Uh oh, wrong tack Dana. He tensed up and looked like he wanted to hit me, so I followed up. "That doesn't seem like you. I think you're very good looking. I...uh...was kind of hoping on Friday that you'd ask me out."

He calmed down and looked surprised. "Really? You really think so?" Then his face hardened. "You _are_ lying to me. You bitches are all the same."

So much for the soft soap. Time for plan number 2. He approached me and I couldn't control my flinch away from him. He looked at me intently then bent over and began kissing me. I held still and endured it until he pulled away, then began unbuttoning my blouse.

Good, get closer..closer..my hands were tied in front of me this time, and I knew exactly where I was going to drive my knees, just as soon as he was in position.

I was about to knee him in the groin, when I heard the sounds of a car on a gravel driveway. He heard it too and abruptly pulled away from me, grabbing a handgun on his way out.

I heard voices outside...Mulder! Then Mulder walked into the shed, followed immediately by my kidnapper, the gun trained on Mulder's back.

"I told you, I'm not armed," Mulder said as he walked in, hands up. "You can see that my holster is empty. Everett, I had to talk to you, get you to see reason." Mulder glanced around the room, his eyes glancing impersonally over me.

"And what reason would that be?" The man, Everett, held the gun firmly on Mulder's chest.

"You have to get out of here. The FBI knows where you are, they're on their way. You're doing a good thing, teaching all those bitches a lesson. Damned women...look down on honest working men...." Mulder was rambling and didn't sound like himself.

"And why do you care so damned much about my welfare, huh?"

"I understand your frustration. Working guys never have a chance with women like this...And this...this piece of garbage," Mulder shot me a look filled with venom. "She deserves everything she gets. But the Feds are coming and you've gotta get out."

Mulder walked over to me and knelt next to me, then grabbed my hair in with his hand and forced his tongue into my mouth, kissing me as brutally as Everett had planned to.

He sat up and grinned at Everett, who by now had lowered the gun, somewhat. "She isn't worth your time, slutty piece of trash just like the rest..." I could see Mulder's hand reaching down to his ankle, where he wore a hidden gun.

Everett had aimed the gun toward the floor by now. He was believing Mulder.

Mulder eased himself to his feet and brought out the gun, pointing it at Everett.

"Freeze. Hands where I can see them, I'm a Federal agent, " he said calmly enough. He'd had me frightened there for a moment. His demeanor had been a haunting twin to my kidnapper.

Everett, shocked, dropped the gun and stood with his hands up. Mulder kicked the gun away and cuffed the man to a support post, then came over to me.

"Mulder...My God, you had me worried for a minute there..." I feasted my eyes on his face and body as he untied me.

He gave me a worried grin. "Don't be relieved yet, that bastard is still in my head. I figured out enough about him to lead me here. Skinner should be here in a few minutes."

I rubbed my wrists and nodded. Mulder helped me to my feet, then quickly drew his hand away as though afraid to touch me. He holstered his gun and began looking around the shed.

"He's got trophies here, I know it..." While I watched, Mulder rummaged in some metal cabinets, then came up with various articles of women's clothing, a necklace, a watch. He fondled them absently, his eyes going vacant.

I reached for the items in Mulder's hands. "Mulder? Mulder you shouldn't handle those without gloves....Mulder!"

Mulder had grabbed my wrist and with a strange look in his eyes he said "Nobody touches these but me. They're mine." He gave me a sideways look that chilled me. I wasn't talking to Mulder any more. It was him, Everett.

"I won't touch them, it's okay." I backed away from him slowly, hoping that Skinner would get here soon. "Mulder? I'm glad you found me. When did you call Skinner? Will he be here soon?"

The distant look faded from Mulder's eyes and he met my glance finally. "Scully? What...what happened?" He looked down at the handful of silk in his hands, then up at me, a frightened expression on his face.

"It's happening again, isn't it? I was him."

I couldn't answer him and still tell the truth. It didn't matter, he saw the truth in my eyes, and nodded. He slowly reached for his gun and pulled it from the holster, then put it on the floor between us.

"Take it, Scully. I shouldn't have it. It's too dangerous; I might hurt you."

"Mulder, you're still you! This will pass, it has to. I can't take your weapon..." I crouched down so that I was even with him.

He smiled at me forlornly and shook his head. "Be logical, Agent Scully. I'm not competent to handle a weapon, and I'm a danger to both myself and you. You keep it for me."

"For now. Temporarily." I picked up the gun hesitantly and tucked it into my belt. Mulder slowly got up, as though a weight had fallen off his shoulders.

I heard a scraping sound and turned to see our prisoner trying to dislodge the pole and escape. Mulder saw him too, and launched himself at him, then began to punch at Everett's head and body frantically.

"Mulder! Stop! Mulder!" I ran forward and tried to pull Mulder away. I could hear Mulder's voice muttering

"I'm not a victim...you're the victim..I'm in control, not you....I have the power, not you! And she's MINE, not yours!"

I pulled at Mulder and he lost his balance, falling away from a now cowering Everett. Mulder got up from the floor, looking at me with burning eyes. The man looking at me was Mulder...but it wasn't him. It was happening again.

"I'm in control. You damned women, you're all alike...trying to take over....But you're mine.." He approached me, he hands reaching out for me.

I pulled the gun and backed away. "Mulder, it's me, Scully..." I tried to keep my voice soothing, remind him of who he was. "We're partners, remember? You and I work together, we're friends...remember roller-skating? You like pizza with anchovies and I hate them..." I kept up a monologue, easing backward for the wall, until I could feel my shoulders against corrugated iron.

I couldn't shoot him point blank. But I had to. I could feel my finger beginning to squeeze the trigger.

Mulder blinked, then staggered back a few steps, his eyes widening. "Oh my God, Scully..." He looked down at his hands, then retreated from me sharply, falling over backwards, holding his arms close to himself, his eyes squeezed shut. Then he began rocking.

I could hear cars pulling up on the gravel driveway. Skinner, at last.

"Mulder, there here. It's okay...." I holstered the gun and knelt next to him, but he just crouched there, rocking.

Skinner ran into the shed, gun drawn and saw me. He looked around.

"Agent Scully, where's...?" He saw Everett, battered but restrained. And then he noticed Mulder. "Damn."

Skinner came over and squatted next to Mulder.

I put my hand on Mulder's shoulder and began to make soothing noises. "Mulder, it's okay; I'm all right, nobody's hurt. You got Everett. It's okay. Can you hear me?"

Mulder just rocked. I exchanged a worried look with Skinner.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Minor bruises, no real damage. But I think we need the paramedics, just the same." Skinner nodded and went over to the doorway to make the call. Meanwhile, agents were pouring into the shed, beginning the forensics work necessary to closing the case down.

I stayed with Mulder throughout the ride to the hospital, but he never said a word.

* * *

**\----Later---**

Skinner got word that I was refusing to leave the hospital unless I saw Mulder. I think Sandy ratted on me.

Skinner came over to my couch and sat down next to me.

"Agent Scully, " he began kindly enough "You've had a hard day. Why don't you go home and rest?"

"Not until I see Mulder. Nobody will tell me anything. What's wrong with him? Is he conscious yet?"

"He's not really himself," Skinner said uncomfortably. "I've spoken with him. He drifts away, then comes back. But the reason you're excluded from seeing him, well, it wasn't my decision. It was his."

"What do you mean, his decision?" I asked incredulously. "Why wouldn't he want to see me?"

"Dana, Mulder was having trouble maintaining his own personality while doing this profile even before this incident, you know that. He left you a note and his journal."

Skinner handed me the note and his own laptop to read the disk with.

"You've read this?" I asked.

"Yes. I needed the insight into his state of mind. Under the circumstances, I have to agree with his decision. It is too dangerous for him to see you right now."

I picked up the laptop and read his journal entries, then read over Mulder's notes. I could see the beginnings of disintegration on the page. And lastly I read his note to me. His goodbye.

He expected this to happen before he came after me, damn him. And he won't let me near, so that I can at least share his pain.

* * *

**Dana Scully's Journal  
March 16---later**

I got in to see him, finally. I snuck a white lab coat, grabbed Mulder's chart and bluffed my way in to see him when the shift changed. The new nurse doesn't know me and unlocked his room for me.

He was sleeping when I went in, restrained at his ankles and wrists. He looks so pale and thin, especially in that hospital gown. I sat down in the chair and began to read over his chart. Not much of a physical nature. Brain scans were normal, no chemicals in his blood stream, no new physical injuries.

And he'd been put into restraints at his own request. He didn't want to chance hurting anybody.

I rubbed my eyes and closed them for a second. He hadn't been evaluated by a psychiatrist yet, but he'd be seeing somebody tomorrow. And then the anti-psychotic meds would begin, maybe a long stay in a mental hospital. Damn those faceless gray men who value politics over a man's life.

I looked up to find him watching me, such a sad look on his face.

"Hey, Scully. I might have known that locked doors wouldn't keep you out," he said quietly.

"Mulder." I paused, uncertain what to say. "Mulder, why?"

He gave me a deep look filled with longing, then stared at the floor. "You know why. I can't trust myself, not like this. Scully, for a moment, I was _him_. I was looking at you through _his_ eyes." He shook his head. "No. I can't risk it. I can't risk hurting you. He's still in my head."

"Mulder, _he<-I> is a set of ideas and concepts you picked up while profiling. You're an empathetic and imaginative man, that's why you're a good profiler. And that's why this happens to you." I surveyed him calmly, suddenly angry, at him, at the situation. "And besides, Mulder, since you elected to have yourself restrained, you can't stop me from staying here and visiting with you. I'm in no danger."_

I leaned back in my chair. "So, what do you have to say to that?"

"I..guess I have no choice." Mulder favored me with a surprised little grin. "Besides, I always did think you had a thing for bondage."

I couldn't stop my own grin at that. I spent the rest of the evening with him. He faded out several of times, but came back when I spoke to him loudly. But he was frightened when he realized what had happened. He was very clear that he wanted the restraints to stay on.

I reluctantly said good night when a nurse came in to give him a sedative so that he'd sleep. I plan to return early tomorrow morning. I want to talk to his psychiatrist.

* * *

**March 17, 1999  
7:00 a.m.**

I was very surprised to find Dr. Heitz Werber deep in conversation with Skinner this morning. And pleased, I think. Dr. Werber is unconventional, but at least he knows Mulder.

I joined Skinner, who was conferring with Werber in the hallway.

"Do you have a prognosis yet, Dr. Werber?" I asked  
anxiously.

"I'm hopeful. A.D. Skinner and I want to discuss that with you."

"You know each other?" I was incredulous. Skinner nodded.

"We've met before. I spoke with Dr. Werber before Mulder was assigned to the X Files." Skinner looked uncomfortable. "I suppose you should know, since you're listed as his next of kin. This isn't the first time this has happened to him."

"I know, when he was profiling Roche he had problems."

Skinner shook his head. "No, Dana, those were minor. No, the reason he left the ISU, and did it so abruptly was because he was beginning to...well, evidence the mannerisms of a subject he was profiling: Monty Props. He realized it himself and sought Dr. Werber's help." My eyes went wide. Monty Props, the famous serial killer that Mulder had known so thoroughly his profile had been the key to apprehending him.

"How bad was it?" I didn't want the answer to this, but I had to know.

"He assaulted Patterson himself and broke the man's nose before he was restrained. He was put on involuntary medical leave." Skinner pulled off his glasses and began wiping them. "We were barely able to save his career by calling it a stress-related leave. With rest, he was able to pull himself together again, and lose the voices. The X-Files were proposed as an interim assignment for him until he recovered fully, and could return to the ISU, and I agreed to supervise the division."

"But I wouldn't agree to his return," Dr. Werber said quietly. "It would destroy him. He is far too suggestible and imaginative for that type of work. Fox approached me and indicated that he enjoyed the X Files and wanted to stay. It seemed he had a partner he liked working with there, as well, so I recommended that he retain that assignment if at all possible."

"And I met with Dr. Werber at that time to make sure that Mulder was fit for duty. With this new...incident...I called him last night, assuming that Mulder would want him on the case." Skinner straightened up.

"We are now presented with a similar problem. If Agent Mulder begins standard psychiatric treatment, including anti-psychotic medication, he can kiss his career good-bye. He's already bordering on suicide, if he loses his career on top of that..." Skinner's voice trailed off as he looked down at his hands.

"He'll die," I whispered. "What can I do to help?"

Werber and Skinner exchanged looks.

"I have an idea, sort of a rest-cure, if you're willing." Werber began. "With some difficulty I've succeeded in persuading the Assistant Director that this is the best thing to do. I don't believe that Fox is a true danger to you or to anyone but himself."

"I have a vacation house in North Carolina. I don't use it much. I had already approached the Director." Skinner's face took on a grim look. "Given the content of my earlier letter to him, he has agreed to extended, fully paid medical leaves for you both. Why don't you go stay there for a while, both of you, and heal up from all this? It's in a beautiful area, it's peaceful and it will give Mulder a chance to recover." Skinner fished into his pocket and handed me a key. "Sharon and I...spent our honeymoon there. It's a nice place. You'll like it."

I took the key. "Thank you sir. But are you sure Mulder will agree to it? I know that he would never hurt me, but he's afraid that he's a danger to me. He'll hardly want to be locked in a cottage with me for weeks."

Skinner grinned. "He doesn't have a choice. Either he does this or he is given a medical retirement. He'll agree. But it'll be up to you to convince him that he isn't the killer he thinks he is."

* * *

**Mulder's Journal  
undated**

They let Skinner loan me his laptop. It's not pointy, like a pen or pencil; not a potential weapon. And the restraints are off. I guess that's good.

It's nice to be able to write my thoughts again; not that they've been very private lately. It seems that Skinner as well as Scully read the contents of the CD and my note to her. I'd be angry if I wasn't just so damned tired of it all.

They've come up with a jack-ass scheme to save my career. Scully and I are going to a cottage in North Carolina that Skinner owns. The very thought terrifies me. I could hurt her and never even realize it until it was too late. Scully looks remarkably calm at the prospect and just reminds me that she'll have a gun, not me. And yeah, I know she'll shoot.

Well, at least the 'stang is going with me. I called Frohike and he's arranging for it to be shipped to Skinner's place. I'll keep working on it, hopefully it'll keep me sane. Or maybe get me sane. All alone with Scully for two months. Once that was my fantasy, now...? Now I'm just scared. And unsettled. Who am I really? Who am I now?


	9. Chapter 9

**Dana Scully's Journal  
** March 31, 1999  
Calabash, N.C. 

Well, we've been here almost two weeks now. It's been peaceful so far. The cottage has two bedrooms, so Mulder sleeps in one and I have the other. To my disappointment, but not my surprise, Mulder has stopped touching me, kissing me like we were beginning to do before.

If he's lapsed into the other personality, he hasn't let me see it. Mostly he's just silent, thinking. I'm trying to give him space, let him heal, but the silence is beginning to wear on me. There is so much left to be said between us

The cottage is pretty, a white-painted clapboard house with a deck and two matching adirondack chairs facing the sea. This week I've been working in the garden and my nose is cherry red. It's been clear with the temp in the 60's and 70's. The roses have run wild; I don't think Skinner has come here much recently, so I've made it my task to prune and care for the garden.

Mulder has been working steadily on the Mustang. He won't let me help, says it's a guy-type of job, even though I'm the one who assembled most of that carburetor. Nevertheless, I understand his need to do 'masculine' things. And the car is something uniquely his, that neither the X-Files nor what's happened to him can take away.

And I....? This is the first real breather I've had since Kurt Willard, and I'm starting to deal with the vestiges of the emotions that experience left behind. No, not vestiges, great seething cauldrons of rage, and shame and pain. I could never spend time to work these through before; Mulder needed me. He still needs me, but I sense that he just needs quiet. And he's still keeping a distance from me. I think he's afraid that the voices will come back and he'll hurt me. At his insistence, I wear my gun and have promised him solemnly that I'll shoot him if I need to.

I've begun seeing a local therapist twice a week. It does help, talking to somebody who doesn't know me as Dana Scully, FBI agent, although I sometimes wonder if this gentle woman really believes half of what I tell her. Mulder seems to be sleeping through the night. Now I'm the one with nightmares: the warehouse, the shed...what would have happened if Mulder hadn't found me when he did.

The most difficult part of this living arrangement is the sheer physical closeness to Mulder. I don't mean to say that we don't talk, we just don't behave in an intimate way.

We've gone back to the "we're-platonic-partners-that's-all" facade. When I make overtures, Mulder shies away. My Mulder-dream is back. I should feel repulsed at the idea of sex, but I'm not. Not at all. And facing him across that kitchen table three times a day is hard. I want him so much, and we're alone here. Nobody watching. Does he want me? Or have I lost him?

So our daily routine is fairly simple. Mulder gets up first and makes coffee for both of us. If the morning is clear, I usually pour myself a cup and join him on the deck, sipping and watching the sea. I grab an afghan and wrap it around myself and sit in the second adirondack and quietly drink my coffee. Then, when the coffee is finished, I make breakfast. (Soup is the only thing he can cook.) On foggy days we do the same thing, in front of the fire.

After breakfast he works on the car and I read, or garden or just think. This is the first extended time I've had for myself in a long time when I wasn't either in a hospital or rehab.

And of course, Mulder watches television. I've never known a man so addicted to the tube. But I don't complain. And funny, even though we have cable here, nary a porn movie has he seen while I've been here with him. The rape turning affecting his desire for sex? Probably. God, how I wish...I wish a lot of things...and I can't do a damned thing about them.

* * *

**Fox Mulder's Journal  
April 1, 1999**

I hate to say it, but I'm getting bored. Is that sick or what? The guys shipped me a stack of Playpen Magazines, but I just don't feel like looking at them. All the women are just...not Scully. Ditto the porno movies; you see one blonde bimbo, you've seen them all. Boring. Not..intelligent, feisty, witty, with red hair and peaches and cream skin...Whoah. Cold shower time....

* * *

**\--Later---**

I'm working on the car. The engine rebuild is going well, and I've ordered new brake pads. I'll finish her off with a full detailing. But Scully doesn't ride in her until I'm clean. Won't know for sure until August. A long, long time.

I'm using my own laptop, now, and have internet access (naturally). I've been corresponding with Bill Draeger by e-mail. He isn't taking patients any more. Too sick. I haven't mentioned what's happening to him to Scully. Somehow, this is one sorrow I want to keep to myself. And the fear. I don't want to burden her any more than she is.

The voices have died down. I catch myself thinking Everett Berger's thoughts less and less often. Thank God. Maybe Dr. Werber was right; it was stress...all the terror and pain and need for control just bunching all together inside.

I'm also checking in with Dr. Werber regularly, by phone and e-mail. The rape nightmares are dying back some, although I still don't sleep well. I think Scully's starting to have problems, though. I heard her crying in her sleep last night, and just didn't know what to do for her. Should I get up and hold her as I'd like to? Would she be scared of me? She doesn't say anything, so I guess she wants her privacy.

Scully. It's so hard being cooped up in this house alone with her. There are times when I just want to throw her across the kitchen table and fuck her silly....And then I remember her rape, and mine and know I could never never do that. Her permission has to be clear before we go anywhere. And nothing until I'm okay, and I know I'm okay. I can't sentence her to what Bill is going through.

I watched her gardening yesterday. She wore some skimpy little white shorts and a navy tee shirt. No hat, little Keds sneaks, no socks. I wanted to sneak up on her and just kiss my way down her neck...no, don't go there. Don't make this any harder than it has to be. Hell, don't make _yourself_ any harder than you have to be.

I need to talk to her about this...this romance. I want it. I want her. I haven't brought it up because I was never sure that I would ever be _me_ again. Frankly, I couldn't be sure what would happen in the heat of passion. Would it be me or _him_, Berger? I know what he does when he feels passionate; and it's like a time bomb inside.

I still want that kiss in the back seat.

* * *

**April 10, 1999**

Scully woke up crying early this morning, like she has the past week. I couldn't just stand by any more. I got up and went into her room to her bed.

"Scully? Are you okay?" I asked, my voice low.

"M..mulder? Is that you?" Her voice was trembling, so I sat on the bed next to her. She was wearing her cotton flannel pajamas, her hair sticking up in all directions. Cute as a button.

I smoothed down her hair. "Are you all right? It sounds like you were having a bad dream." I reached an arm around her and gathered her in close. She snuggled against my chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Yeah. It was a nightmare." Her voice was muffled.

"Anything you'd care to talk about?" I kept stroking her hair gently, pushing it away from the part of her face that I could see.

"Just the usual. Abduction. Experimentation. Kurt Willard. Rape."

At the last word I tightened both arms around her and just held her until she'd cried herself out. When she seemed calmer, I moved to go back to my room but she stopped me.

"Mulder, will you stay with me tonight? I don't mean for sex, just would you stay?"

"Of course." I climbed into the bed next to her and we spooned for the rest of the night, her hands holding onto mine where they were clasped around her waist.

* * *

**Dana Scully's Journal  
April 16, 1999**

The nightmares have gotten worse. Thank goodness for Mulder. He's started sharing the bed with me because of them. I think I woke him up the other night; he came in to check on me. Since then, we've shared the bed but not our bodies.

It's so comforting to have him there. And, he makes a wonderful electric blanket. He normally sort of drapes himself around me anyway, and I've found myself sleeping more warmly and definitely more securely since then. I still crave him, and, judging by what I often feel pressed against me, the feeling is mutual.

We have to talk about our relationship. He hasn't brought the subject up, so I know it scares him silly. It scares me too. But it's like the elephant in the living room that everyone ignores. It's there and it isn't going anywhere, so it is pointless to pretend that it doesn't exist. I've stopped caring whether he hears me call his name in my sleep. I think his ego could use a little boosting, and, well, he already knows I dream about him. He read my diary, so he has to know how I feel.

* * *

**April 20, 1999**

Uneventful. We're still spooning at night, but nothing more. I'm getting frustrated. Mulder finished the engine and is starting the brakes. I'm beginning to be jealous of that car.

* * *

**April 30, 1999**

A funny thing happened today. I was searching for some cleanser in one of the closets and found a set of Skinner's wedding photos. Mulder found me looking at them and stopped to see what I was doing.

"What's that?" he asked, wiping the grease off his hands and sat down next to me on the couch.

"Skinner's wedding photos. He did say that he and Sharon spent their honeymoon here." I handed a formal photo to Mulder. He grinned.

"Hey, Skinner has hair! He looks so young." Mulder studied the photo. "And happy."

"I think they were very much in love," I said, looking at other snapshots of the Skinners on a picnic, at the beach, clowning at a party.

"Yet they divorced," Mulder said thoughtfully.

"Sharon told me once that Skinner was too good at keeping secrets, that he never opened up much. I think that killed the marriage. She loved him, but she just couldn't live with the silence." I was quiet a moment, thinking about the parallels. I think Mulder was too.

"Scully, I haven't said much these past weeks, and I know how you must feel..." he began, but I interrupted.

"Mulder, you have no idea how I feel. Why don't you try asking me?"

He looked at me, a little frightened. "Okay, how do you feel? What do you feel?"

"I feel angry that we seem to have lost the...the intimacy we were building. I'm tired of being shut out of your life, even though I think you're trying to protect me. It never works, anyway. And I feel...I feel..." I could see the fingers of my left hand gripping my knee. Mulder's right came to rest on top of it, and he clasped my hand.

"You feel like one wrong move and we're history, right? And if that happened, the sky would tear apart and the world would end because being together is all that matters." Mulder held my hand in a suddenly tight grip. "I don't know if you feel like that, but I do. I don't want to lose you, Scully. But it's hard to say things. It's just easier to _do_ things than to say them."

"I know. I'm not exactly forthcoming myself. Okay Mulder, here it is. I'm hot for you. Living in this house with you is wonderful and excruciating. Sleeping with you is the most comfortable, cozy experience I've ever had, and the surest test of self-control I've ever met. How's that for openness?"

I looked up to meet his deep hazel eyes. He was grinning.

"Why are you smiling, damn it?"

"I'm happy," he said. "It's good to know that I'm not the only one going crazy here." He paused and gently put the wedding picture on the coffee table. "I've been quiet, because I wanted to be sure that Berger was out of my head. I think...he's faded away. Finally. Agent Scully, would it bother you if I kissed you very passionately on this couch?"

"Agent Mulder, it would bother me not at all."

To my delight we found ourselves making out on the couch, pretty passionately. I took great pleasure in removing Mulder's shirt and running my hands over his chest. His skin is so soft...who'd have thought he was ticklish? This time was my turn. I kissed my way across his chest and down his abdomen heading steadily south. Okay, no bodily fluids must be exchanged, but that doesn't mean I can't look, does it? Or touch? I'd wash my hands later...

Mulder had lost his shirt and jeans and I was missing my shirt, shorts and bra and we were both going for the last bits of underwear when Mulder stopped suddenly and pulled away.

"No, Scully--we can't. We can't..." He was panting and his eyes were closed.

"Mulder, what's wrong?" Damn! Voices in the head? What? I was panting pretty hard myself, and flushed from Mulder's kisses.

"I can't...It just feels...wrong. Every time I get close to you, I'm back there. In the warehouse. And I want to touch you, love you so much...When is this damned thing ever going to end?" Mulder looked at me with anguish.

I gave him a careful hug. "Mulder, you're still better than you were. And you're getting better all the time. We'll get our chance."

"Scully, would it bother you if we kept this dating thing at the, well, the courtship level? Dates, kisses, holding hands, that kind of thing? I think I can handle that. And I think...I think I need to talk to somebody about this." Mulder looked abashed. "I never thought I'd have to see a therapist for something like this." He grabbed his shirt and slowly began to pull it on.

I picked up my own shirt from the floor and began dressing too. "Mulder, it's okay. And I think the therapist is a good idea. Like I said, we have time."

"Okay, but Ms. Scully, may I escort you to dinner and a movie next Saturday night?"

"It would be my pleasure." I gave him another hug and he hugged back, hard.

* * *

**May 5, 1999**

I was taking Mulder some coffee while he was reading his e-mail this afternoon when he stiffened in his chair, as if he'd been hit with a body blow.

"Mulder, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" I put the coffee down and crouched down to his eye level.

Mulder gulped and faced me. He said in a low, flat voice, "Bill Draeger's dead. His secretary is answering all his e-mails. He died yesterday. Of AIDS. The funeral is tomorrow." Mulder paused, then went on. "He was only 40 years old."

Mulder looked up, his face filled with pain. "I have to go back. I have to get to the funeral, and see the others from the group. God..." He fell silent, then began to speak slowly. "Bill never wanted to talk about it, being HIV positive. He just wanted to focus on life and get as much living in as he possibly could. And help as many people who were...hurt...like he was, as he could." Mulder scrubbed at his eyes and got up, wandering toward his bedroom.

I followed him in and watched him pack a bag.

"When are you coming back? Are you?" I couldn't keep the longing out of my voice. Mulder looked back, over his shoulder at me.

"I'll be back. I think I'll stay a night or two in D.C., then come back on Saturday. For our date." Mulder smiled a little and I smiled back. His face changed, and an anxious look crossed his face.

"Will you be all right, all alone here?"

"I'll be..." I started to say 'fine', but something stopped me. I gathered my breath to finish the sentence, but I couldn't. He was going. My support, my warm, safe place. Just me, alone in this house, with my nightmares. I hadn't been alone since my kidnapping by Berger; I'd stayed with Mom until Mulder was ready to travel.

And before that, I'd been too preoccupied with Mulder and keeping him safe to go into my own feelings of exposure, shame, terror. I had ruthlessly pushed them down, dimly aware that they existed, but determined not to succumb. Here, in solitude I'd had a chance to open the coffin-lid just a bit, and now, while I stood there in front of Mulder, the lid was flying out of my hands and releasing, God only knew what.

I could feel myself beginning to shake. "I'll be...I'll...I..." I couldn't get the words out. I wasn't fine. I hadn't _been_ fine for a long time, and I couldn't side-step it any more. But I'm the strong one, the independent one. _I_ nurture Mulder, he doesn't nurture me. That isn't the way it works..

"Scully?" Mulder moved forward to hold me, but I stepped backward. I could do this. I had to. I'm strong and I can't be a dependent, wilting female, or I'm no good to myself or anybody else.

"No...Mulder...I'm fine. Really, I'll be fine." Mulder's face changed from caring sympathy to anger.

"So you're fine, huh? Who is it has nightmares every night? You may not wake up, but I hear you crying in your sleep. You don't eat enough to keep a mouse alive. Don't you think I've noticed how your clothes are starting to bag on you?" He plucked at my wool sweater and pinched a good two inches of fabric.

"I haven't said anything, because you'd only deny it. Damn it, Scully! When are you ever going to learn to accept help? Sure, you're ready to be open and share a few of your feelings, but only when _I'm_ the official patient, and you can be the comforting earth-mother. Every time I need you to let me in, you pull this "I'm fine, Mulder" crap!" He walked back to the suitcase and began throwing clothes into it.

"Well, I am fine! I can handle this. I'm seeing a therapist." At Mulder's frown and disbelieving look I added, "Well, I am. Really! And as for being more open, just because I don't wear my heart on my sleeve and run around telling the universe my life story, begging to be laughed at doesn't mean I...Oh my God, Mulder...I'm so sorry...." One look at his face told me everything I needed to know.

"Well, you obviously don't need anything from me. I don't think you ever did. You can take care of yourself. I'll see you on Saturday, _Dr_. Scully." With an angry look, Mulder grabbed the suitcase and the car keys and slammed out the door.

I ran after him and watched him pull the car from the driveway, tires squealing, and zoom down the street.

Damn him! He had to know I didn't mean it. I was only angry, he's used to my temper, or he should be by now.

He's been gone for three hours and 36 minutes now. I sit in this quiet house and listen to the tick of the clock. Today is Wednesday, and so he'll be back in two days. I can take care of myself just fine. I'm an adult woman who has been living alone for years. I don't need him to protect me or watch over me. Really.

* * *

**May 6  
3:15 a.m.**

I woke up. I'm cold, the bed is so big and empty. I had a nightmare; I dreamed that a man had broken in to this house and I could feel his shadow cast across me. I jolted bolt upright in bed and grabbed for my gun with one hand, the light switch with the other. Nobody was there. I've searched the entire place. I'm alone.

My therapist has been nagging me to write more in my journal; to express my emotions more. I have written something of what I'm feeling but..well, not much. I can feel it trying to push its way out.

I'm afraid. The house is quiet, and remote and so empty. And I feel anguished at what I said to Mulder and alone and empty. That's what I am, an empty thing. To Dwayne Barry, I was a bargaining chip. To those faceless gray men who took me and surgically removed any chance at motherhood, I am just a thing, a repository for a valued commodity. To Kurt Willard, I was an animated sex toy, to be played with, terrorized, destroyed then discarded. To Everett Berger...I was an enemy, an opponent to be humiliated. A thing. To all these men I have been a thing.

My universe has told me for some time that who I am, as a living breathing woman doesn't matter. I am a pawn, a thing, to be used then dropped.

I feel....too much. Too much. I don't want to write. I don't want to feel. I don't want to be alone. Oh, I want Mulder....but he's miles away. And I sent him away, pushed him away. Why?

I've always been a private person. In a big family, you don't go spilling your secrets where your brothers can make hay with them. And when you're short, you have to be self-sufficient, so they respect you.

And I need Mulder to respect me. What he thinks matters to me. But if that's the case, why don't I let him in? He's right. I don't tell him things unless I'm pushed. I want him to talk about his feelings and I listen without judgment. Mostly. But when he wants to support me, I turn him away.

He doesn't think I've seen the hurt look on his face when I do that. I do, but I can't stop myself.

And now...I feel alone. So alone in this empty place which creaks and echoes with the night.

I'll try to get some more sleep.

* * *

**8:00 a.m.**

The house is still silent. I had a nightmare about the warehouse. I was alone, on that floor and Kurt Willard had his fingers inside me and was whispering obscenities into my ear....and I was alone and trapped. And I knew it was a dream, but I couldn't wake up. Then Kurt turned into Berger. And this time Mulder didn't arrive, and Berger raped me, and raped me and ....

I'm awake now. I don't want breakfast. The nightmares weren't this bad when Mulder was here.

I think I'll call Millie's office and see if she can see me today. I need to talk.


	10. Chapter 10

**3:00 p.m.**

I just got back from my therapist's office. I told her about my fight with Mulder. She just sat back and nodded. "You feel a strong need to be self-sufficient, don't you Dana?" I nodded and she went on. "Has it occurred to you that receiving the support of others graciously is as important as giving that support? Giving Mulder your help and love makes you feel good, doesn't it?"

I nodded again, suspiciously. I knew what she was going to say next, but didn't have to like it. "So you think I should let Mulder have the pleasure of helping and supporting me once in a while."

Millie smiled. "From your description, he's a generous man. He's shared himself with you for some time, as much as you'd allow. Now it's time for you to return the favor. That is, if you intend to continue having a relationship with him."

Intend? Of course I intend to have a relationship with him. "Of course I do!" I responded angrily, then a sudden flash of Sharon Skinner's face took me by surprise. She had said that Skinner was good at keeping secrets, that he'd built a wall to keep everybody out, especially his wife. She loved him, I could tell.

Mulder. And me. Could I lose him Skinner lost Sharon? Am I shutting him out as surely as Skinner walled Sharon from his soul? The full enormity of the last four months finally struck me. God. I could lose him. I could drive him away from me, even Mulder couldn't wait forever. Or worse, we still didn't know his HIV status for sure. He could get sick just like his friend Bill. He could die.

I've always known that Mulder has a talent for hurting himself and coming back from cases half dead. I think that maybe my unwillingness to let him in has something to do with that. Losing him would hurt so much, so very much. And I'd die to save him, just so that I wasn't the one left behind. Alone.

And what do I have to offer him, really? A scarred body, empty of the future, a chip in my neck that keeps the cancer from devouring me alive; a used up shell, abused by three criminal men: Benny, Kurt, then Everett. And a temper. And an unwillingness to fully trust myself to the only man I've ever really loved.

Millie was waiting patiently for me to continue. I just looked at her wordlessly for a minute, then everything crumbled. I found myself crying bitterly as she handed me kleenexes.

I stumbled through an explanation of these thoughts, crying and snuffling through the words. Millie, a gentle and kind woman, let me talk until I was left weary and silent.

"Dana, I think that you should write about your feelings more. Let them out on paper. And don't be so hard on yourself. You have proof that Mulder loves you, and you have no evidence that you've been abandoned. But examine your own feelings about intimacy with him..." As I started to interrupt, she held up a hand. "And I'm not talking about sexual relations. I'm talking about sharing yourself, warts and all. Do you really think he's unaware of your faults? Or your fears?"

She sent me home with a lot to think about. I am sitting now, a cup of tea at my elbow, examining the Skinners' wedding picture. Such a happy couple, young and hopeful. But Skinner couldn't bend, couldn't give enough of himself to keep the marriage alive. Even though he loved her. I think he still does."

* * *

**May 7, 1999  
2:00 a.m.**

Another nightmare. Worse, much worse. Back in the warehouse and I couldn't stop them. I was powerless and they were using me. God...

So now, here I am, with cup of tea generously laced with Jack Daniels, sitting in bed, shaking. I'm afraid, so afraid that somehow one of them will reappear. I know Kurt and Benny are dead, I saw them die. But I'm still scared. Berger isn't dead; I'll have to see him eventually. At his trial.

Even though I'll be in a room packed with people, including the various FBI agents there to testify, and even though I'll have my gun, and even though Mulder will be there, right beside me, I'm scared.

* * *

**4:30 a.m.**

I just got off the phone with Mulder. This is the first time I've been the one calling in the middle of the night.

"Yeah.." He sounded groggy, I must have waked him.

"Hi Mulder, it's me." I was quiet, struggling to find the words.

"Hi Scully. What's up? You don't usually call this late. Are you okay?" I could hear the alarm in his voice.

"I'm fine....no, wait..." No, I can't go on being 'fine'. That isn't why I called. "Mulder, I'm sorry for the things I said. I lost my temper and took it out on you. Please forgive me."

I could hear the smile in his voice. "Well, yeah, you were pretty harsh. But you've forgiven me some things. It's okay, Scully."

"How was the funeral?"

"Sad. His family was there, and most of the people from the Crisis Center. A lot of his patients. He helped a lot of people." Mulder was quiet for a bit. "He made a difference, you know? His end was terrible, but he really made a difference. The world is an emptier place now that's he's gone."

"I know." Mulder, I know just what you mean. I can think of somebody this world would miss if he were absent. "Mulder, there's another reason I called. Um...I had a nightmare and I woke up shaking. I....just wanted to hear a friendly voice. I miss you."

"You do?" He sounded eager, like a child who's been given a gift.

"Yeah. I've kind of gotten used to having you around. I dreamed about the warehouse again. Mulder, you were right. I do close myself off; I do shut you out, and I don't want to do that any more. Would you...please come back?"

I heard him draw in his breath. "Do you mean that, Scully?"

"I need you, Mulder. I'm...afraid of all the emotions I'm feeling and I don't want to do this alone." I could feel myself tearing up. I know my voice got shaky.

"I'm on my way, Scully. Just hang on, I'll be there soon."

He hung up and I just sat, staring at the cell phone in my hand. Mulder was coming back, a day before planned. Just for me.

* * *

**10:00 p.m.**

When Mulder arrived I could hear all the angels of heaven singing. And his kiss....well, it was wonderful. After he kissed me, he just held me for a while, then we moved to the couch and did some more serious holding, while the fire flickered in the fireplace. After a while he spoke, and I could hear his voice rumble from where my head was resting against his chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I could feel his hand stroking my hair, gently.

"When you went away I had time to think. Really think. Mulder, I pushed you away because....because the thought of you leaving me alone was intolerable. And the thought of letting you see me vulnerable was just as bad. I've been fighting off the nightmare and my fears, trying to do it by myself; telling myself that I needed to be strong. I'm strong, but I'm not that strong. Sometimes, I need somebody to lean on." I could feel his lips against my hair.

"Go on."

"It's all become...overwhelming..." I began to tell him things, the details I haven't told my therapist, feelings I haven't even written down. I told him about the nightmares, in detail, feeling helpless, feeling like an inanimate object of no value, except to be used and cast aside. I told him about my first abduction, what I can remember about it, and the terror I still feel when I think about it. About the despair of childlessness, feeling time slipping away from me without a husband, children, a home. I told him about sitting by his bedside in Dead Horse Alaska, knowing that his life was hanging by a thread and that the only thing left for me to do was to pray. And I told him about the warehouse.

I told him how anguished and terrified I was, and how protected he made me feel even in the middle of Hell. And I told him about seeing the warehouse tape for the first time, and going home to cry privately in the shower so that nobody would hear me wail out loud. And how Mom sat with me while I cried some more. I told him about how frantic I had been, searching for him in the warehouse, sure that he was there somewhere, and how I began to claw away the false wall that imprisoned him with my fingernails because I _knew_ he was somewhere behind it, and then he wasn't breathing when I did manage to get him out. And about how devastated I had felt when he had turned away from me; as though my heart had been ripped out.

And I told him about the nightmares, the flashbacks, the fear that I didn't want to show anybody I felt. How afraid I was that I would be thought weak and discarded as useless, and how scarred and battleworn and tired I feel. And empty.

And at last, I told him about Sharon and Walter Skinner. She and her husband once had a glowing love that withered because one partner withdrew, tried to be a tower of strength. I told him that I never want to be so strong and so independent that I drove him away from me. I never wanted for us what happened to Skinner, and I'd do everything in my power to prevent it.

And I told him that he'd never shown me anything but respect. He has my trust and faith that he will continue to do so; I can trust him with my heart and my soul. And I do.

Mulder was silent while I spoke. We lay together on the couch, side by side, his right arm around me. But I found it hard to meet his glance while I was showing him my soul. I felt his hand caress my cheek and looked up into his glowing eyes.

"Scully, that's the most generous gift I've ever been given. I'm honored." He leaned down and gave me a feathery kiss on the lips. I snuggled in against his chest and gave a relieved sigh when his other arm wrapped around me. I felt, feel lighter somehow. It's as though my burden has been lessened, be being shared.

Mulder nuzzled my hair with his lips and gave a rueful laugh. "Well, as long as we're sharing truth, I owe you some. I didn't just go to the funeral, I saw a therapist today, my first session with her. You're involved, so you have the right to know. She specializes in sexual disfunction, and I'm going to her because of the problems caused by the rape. She said she might want to talk to my 'significant other', was the way she put it. I'd like you to meet with her, if you're willing to go."

I looked up at Mulder. He looked uncomfortable and scared. "Of course I'll go. This issue concerns me, too, since I plan to become your lover the instant it becomes possible."

"Yes ma'am." Mulder grinned back. He went on. "I told her about our partnership, and our long relationship and, well, how I feel about you. She seems to think it's a good sign. I have some homework, in fact."

"And what would that be, pray tell?" I asked archly (and a bit hopefully).

"Um..fantasizing and, uh..." Mulder looked really  
uncomfortable now.

"Masturbating, huh?" I said forthrightly in my best clinical tone. "It's okay, Mulder, I'd expect that. It's safe, you can trust your partner and you don't have to worry about birth control." I grinned at his blushing face. "And I've been known to do it a time or two."

"Oh, have you, Agent Scully?" Mulder looked interested and less embarrassed. "Well, that's my homework..."

I must have looked hopeful because he shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm solo for now. I don't want to lose control, and with you Scully, I would. Please understand, I want you. I want you bad. But I want you so much, and I've just gone to Bill's funeral. He died. Of AIDS. That a rapist gave him. And...and since the warehouse, every time I've tried to...to jack myself off, I replay the what I did with Kurt Willard." He turned his eyes away in disgust. "The way it felt, when I came, and how dirty and helpless and I felt. Ashamed."

"Mulder, _you_ didn't do anything with Kurt Willard. It was done _to_ you. It will take time to heal from this, but I'm not going anywhere. And besides, Ann Landers says that statistically, women prefer being cuddled to intercourse anyway." I lay back and waited for Mulder's reaction. It came in the form of tickling me until I cried for mercy.

While we both laughed on the floor where we'd landed, Mulder started talking again. "Two more things I need to discuss with you. The first is...Scully I'll have to ask you to forgive me for hiding something important from you. I did it, thinking I was protecting you from pain, but now I know that it was unjustified. You are strong and you can handle this." His face was solemn. "Scully, you _can_ have children some day, if you use in vitro fertilization. When I was looking for a cancer cure for you I was able to steal back a vial of your eggs. They were in a cryogenic storage facility. The guys have them safely stored, available whenever you need them."

"Wait a minute. The three stooges know about my eggs but you never told _me_? Mulder, how could you?" I was furious. I sat up and faced this man, who I knew had betrayed me with this secret. Then I saw his face. He was ashamed, afraid of losing me. "What else, Mulder? What else haven't you told me?" I held myself on edge, waiting for the next blow to fall.

"I was married before, briefly, to Diana Fowley. It didn't work out and we were divorced within a year. She went off to Europe and I, well, I stayed with the X Files." Mulder waited for the explosion from me, but I surprised him by being calm.

"I knew that, Mulder. The Gunmen aren't the only good hackers around. When Diana showed up, I ran the best background check on her I could. Why do you think I hate her so much? She's your ex. You committed your life to her once; you loved her. Maybe you could again....and I'd be left alone."

Mulder caressed my chin and pulled my face up to meet his eyes. "I never would love her again, Scully, because I love somebody else now. And that won't change. She was part of another life, another me. You've made me whole. I know I keep saying that, but you do." He pulled me close and kissed me, deep and tender. I sighed and leaned my forehead against his.

"Are those all your secrets, Mulder?" I asked tenderly.

"Yeah. Do you forgive me?"

"Yeah. I don't know whether I'm happy or mad about the eggs, but it's nice to know that I have choices. That's more than I'd have had without you. Now I can have little green-eyed babies if I want them."

Mulder pulled up short. "Do you? Want them, I mean?" He examined my face, trying to read my expression. "If you could have little green-eyed babies with, say, a guy with a big nose who talks too much, would you?"

"I dunno, Mulder. Does he have a job? Can I take him home to mother?" I grinned at him.

"Yes, and you already have. Although I don't think your big brother likes him much. But I do know that even though he has a big nose, he loves you and hopes you can look beyond it."

"Oh, I think I could ignore the nose." I ran my fingertip down Mulder's 'distinguished profile'. "I have a little nose and I think we'd balance out in our kids. They'd have average noses."

"That's a thought. I hope at least one has red hair." Mulder leaned back against the couch and took me with him. "Y'know, as a honeymoon spot this place is pretty nice, don't you think?"

"Yeah. I think Skinner would loan it to us again." I mused. So. It is understood where we are going. Nothing so formal as a ring and a declaration, but then we've never needed those things.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mulder frown and his face cloud over a bit. "Mulder, what's wrong?"

"Scully, if I don't test out clean....If I get sick like Bill did...."

"Then I marry you anyway." I said firmly. "I finally managed to snag you, I'm not letting you get away." I turned to face him fully, sitting indian style on the floor. "Mulder, I believe in the 'in sickness and in health' part. You stuck with me when I was dying of cancer. Could I do less for you? If you get sick, I'm there for it. We'd both be out there looking for treatments, a cure if possible. And if not, I'm still there, making damned sure that my face is the last one you see. But I won't lose a single minute of my time with you."

Mulder looked shaken and, for once, was speechless. That was okay, because I kissed him and we didn't talk for a while.

As I write this now, Mulder is asleep on the couch (no t.v. necessary for once) and the house is quiet. But it isn't the empty, rattling, unnerving quiet anymore. It feels like a home. And I feel at rest.

* * *

**May 15, 1999**

We are packing up the house, preparing to go back to work on June 2. Mulder will be driving the now fully restored Mustang back to D.C. while I take the rental car. We both decided to go back early so that Mulder can start therapy in earnest now. And I want to see my old therapist at the Bureau. Both Mulder and I now have a reason to heal, as fast and as thoroughly as we can.

* * *

**July 15, 1999**

I haven't had much time to write. The backlog of cases is horrendous. Mulder is still in therapy, as am I. We still date; Saturday nights are sacred and we've adopted a little diner as 'our place'. It serves burgers and fries, as greasy as Mulder like them but also has a veggie burger to die for.

Every other Saturday I cook for Mulder. I'm enjoying cracking open my old cook books and, believe it or not he's starting to get a little pot on his tummy. I think I'll cut back on the lasagna with him. Or put him on a diet.

Of course, there's always exercise. But the kind I really want isn't forthcoming. August makes it six months since the rape. Mulder is tense about it and so am I.

We're both trying to be open about this and I know he's as scared as I am. I worry about him, but as I said to him, if the worst happens we go through it, together. He'll have to pry me off with a crowbar.

I know he's gone in for a full battery of tests. Physically, he's healed well from Willard's abuse. Emotionally, he's still in therapy and working hard to overcome the mental scars it's left.

Me--I'm still talking to the therapist, but I feel better. Oddly enough, opening up to Mulder and accepting his support has helped more than anything. I'm not alone any more.

All that's left is the HIV question. And so we wait for the results. And I pray. I've lit candles for Mulder and said novenas. He laughs, but says he'll accept any help he can get and if I'm on good terms with any saint or supernatural deity, it's okay with him. I've got Mom praying too.

And so I wait. And I worry. Oh how I worry about him. And how precious he's become, even more so than he was six months ago. How did that happen? I loved him then, but now...

* * *

**August 1, 1999**

Mulder just called. He says he'll stop by in half an hour to pick me up for dinner and an evening out. He sounds...happy, light, joyous. I think I'll wear that new silk slip-dress he hasn't seen yet.

* * *

**Later------**

My gallant knight arrived on his white horse to rescue me today.....


End file.
